


Poinsettia

by parkguardian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of canon character death, Pack Family, Secret Santa, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-01 21:45:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2788868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parkguardian/pseuds/parkguardian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia and Kira orchestrate a Secret Santa gift exchange for the pack's first official Christmas together, but it's difficult to keep things in order with Isaac back from France and Peter out of Eichen House. Chaos ensues, all to the tune of festive music and an array of bad gifts. In short, Lydia does her best to pick up the pieces of a broken pack.<br/><br/>{post season 4}<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. everyone. [dec 20]

"Can I trust you?"  
  
The way Stiles asked the question sounded vaguely accusatory, as if he didn't already trust Isaac. Their friendship had been spurred after Chris swept the blonde away to the other half of the world--it was over Skype and online games they'd been able to break through their wall of past differences. Even with Isaac out backpacking across Europe for most days of the year, Scott insisted that Isaac would always have a home in Beacon Hills and a place in his pack. Finding out that his two best friends had made peace with one another was something Scott was extremely pleased about.  
  
Isaac had made his ceremonious return in time for the holidays. Stiles and Isaac had bantered their way through their reuniting. It had been a few days since they'd picked him up from the airport, and he and Stiles nestled in at the Stilinski stronghold to test out a different platform of gaming and ignoring the fact Christmas was coming up quick.  
  
"Of course you can. Why?"  
  
Stiles tapped one of the buttons on his DS. Isaac heard the cheerful music come to an abrupt halt. Uh oh. That meant Stiles was gearing up for one of his infamous Serious Talks.  
  
"Wanna know who I got for Secret Santa?"  
  
Isaac hummed, readjusting the blanket over their legs.  
  
"I'm taking that as a yes. I got Scott," he blurted out. He grinned widely at Isaac, obviously proud that he'd picked the perfect person to get a gift for. In fact, Stiles getting Scott a present would undoubtedly be too easy. Stiles had eight years’ worth of experience in picking out something for Scott.  
  
He frowned, thinking back to the name he'd pulled. Stiles reacted immediately.  
  
"Whoa, what? What's wrong?" he asked, sitting up straighter.  
  
Isaac pursed his lips, wondering if he'd held onto the scrap of paper he'd drawn out of the cheery Santa hat. He patted at his jeans. Stiles moved his legs, which had been comfortably trapping Isaac. Isaac wriggled out from under the blanket and stuck a finger down into his pocket. The paper was wrinkled and worn soft from when Isaac had crumpled it into a tiny ball. He unfurled it and handed it to Stiles before situating himself in the crook of the cushions once more.  
  
Stiles squinted down at the slip. Scrawled in ink and what was evidently Kira's lightning bolt lettering, the name _Derek Hale_ sat menacingly. He winced.  
  
"That's rough, buddy."  
  
"Why did Lydia and Kira let him play? I know he doesn't want to," Isaac grumbled. Stiles put his legs back over Isaac's. "I don't even know what to get him," he continued, growing distressed.  
  
"Wanna trade?"  
  
"What?"  
  
Isaac stared at Stiles, who had let his attention slip back to the screen of his handheld. He hadn't expected... Well, he didn't think Stiles would pass on the match up of a lifetime when it came to anonymous gift exchanges. The fact he'd suggested swapping partners was startlingly out of character.  
  
"We can trade, so you don't have to get anything for Derek," Stiles said, with an air of nonchalance about it. "No one has to know. It'll be our secret."  
  
Isaac raised an eyebrow.  
  
"I'm great at keeping secrets," Stiles insisted.  
  
"Liar," Isaac shot back, smirking.  
  
Stiles gaped at him, mocking offense. He kicked at Isaac under the blanket. "I'm not lying! I won't tell anyone we cheated," he said. "Besides, if I did, it would throw me under the bus, too." He smiled at Isaac, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth, taunting.  
  
Isaac leaned over and shoved him. Stiles struggled to get at a safe distance to continue his Pokémon battle without interruption. Isaac relaxed against the arm of the sofa, stretching out in the square of space Stiles had left vacated. The Chiptune music had resumed, leaving Isaac to read the scroll of subtitles on screen for the episode of The X Files they had playing in the background.  
  
"Let's go shopping tomorrow," Stiles suggested. "Derek's going to be thrilled to find out I'm the one getting him a Christmas present."  
  
"Oh, no doubt," Isaac said, feeling that tight stab of worry lift from his chest.

*

Lights were strung over the vanity, painting the room in hues of gold and blue. The window was open, breathing iced air into the otherwise stuffy bedroom. Potted plants lined the window sill. Lydia's desk was occupied with various wrapping paper, shiny and striped in festive colours. Beside the rolls of wrapping paper sat her laptop, which was spewing music box melodies of Christmas songs, for atmospheric effect.  
  
Kira exhaled slowly, trying her best to keep her hand from trembling. Lydia held the brush with great finesse, dotting Kira's nails in tiny snowflakes. "There," Lydia said, finishing Kira's thumbnail with flourish. "All done. What do you think?"  
  
Kira splayed her hands and wiggled her fingers. "They're beautiful," she gushed. "You're really good at this."  
  
"I'm good at a lot of things, sweetheart," Lydia replied, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She stood up and stepped over Malia, who had made herself comfortable on Lydia's floor, reading through a textbook and colouring in paragraphs at a time. She was down to a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, which she was wearing inside out. Unfortunately, that meant Lydia had no choice but to acknowledge the fact that Stiles' name was written across the waistband in black marker.  
  
Lydia stuck the brush to the nail polish back in its rightful place. She screwed on the cap and nestled the polish back into one of the drawers. She ran her manicured nail over the trackpad to her laptop and skipped the song on her Christmas playlist.  
  
Kira watched Malia, idly blowing across her wet nails.  
  
Malia popped the cap to her highlighter out of her mouth. She blew a strand of hair from her eyes and looked up. "What?"  
  
"It's winter break," Kira pointed out. "You don't have to keep reading the textbooks."  
  
"I don't have time to _stop_ reading the textbooks. I still have eight years to catch up on." Malia's mouth settled to a frown, then she dropped her gaze back to the book. She skimmed a few lines, trying to find her place.  
  
Lydia propped one hand on her hip and cleared her throat. This startled Malia back out from her reading. This time, Malia's head swindled to look up at Lydia, to her right.  
  
" _What_?" Malia asked again.  
  
"I didn't invite you over to study. I invited you over so we could play. Now," Lydia said, holding up a forest green gloss of nail polish, "put the book down and let me help you get pretty."  
  
"I'm already pretty. Stiles says--"  
  
"He's supposed to tell you you're pretty," Lydia interrupted. "He's your boyfriend. Telling you that you look pretty is his job. This will be fun, okay?"  
  
Malia's mouth tweaked to the side. Kira patted the mattress, encouraging Malia to join her. Lydia shot her a look for attempting anything with her hands, and Kira smiled apologetically. Malia heaved a sigh and climbed up onto the bed beside Kira.  
  
"Is it going to be fun like that time I made a blanket slide on your staircase? Or is it going to be fun like that time you tried to pluck my eyebrows?" she asked, worried.  
  
"This is somewhere in between," Kira said.  
  
Lydia settled in across from Malia, warning her that she'd have to keep still. Malia nodded, determined. For some reason, she believed that sitting still correlated with holding her breath, and she sat there with her cheeks puffed out like a kindergartener while Lydia swiped the polish over each stubby nail.  
  
Suddenly, in the middle of Lydia applying the second coat, Malia's expression darkened. She released the breath she'd been holding. She had done it a few times previous, and each time she did, it made her whole body flinch and Lydia kept having to redo parts of Malia's nails. This time, Lydia's brush skittered down Malia's cuticle. Lydia frowned.  
  
"Should I wrap a gun, or put it in a box? For the Secret Santa?"  
  
"Excuse me?" Lydia asked, stopping dead in her tracks. "Why are you getting someone a _gun_ for Secret Santa?"  
  
"What else am I supposed to get Braeden? All she ever shows interest in is guns, which my dad has lots of; money, which I'm sure she has enough of; and Derek, but she's already got one of those," Malia groaned. "This would be so much easier if I'd picked Stiles' name out of the hat, because I know what Stiles likes."  
  
"If you got Stiles," Kira said, "you could leave him a dead rat on the doorstep or something, and it would be like when cats give presents to people they like?" She paused when Lydia and Malia both fixed their attention on her. She tilted her head so her bangs fell into her eyes, and she stared down at the bed, voice growing quiet and hesitating. "Except you're not cats, because werewolves are more like dogs, um, so I guess it wouldn't actually be that funny?"  
  
Malia smiled, and Kira went crimson.  
  
"Stiles would like that, even if I'm not a cat," Malia reassured her. Then, she snapped her head back to Lydia. "See? I could get Stiles a dead animal. I want to have Stiles for my Secret Santa partner."  
  
Lydia's eyebrow twitched.  
  
"First of all, you're not supposed to tell us who you got for the gift exchange. Second, a dead animal is even _less_ appropriate than a gun in a box with a ribbon on top," Lydia said, swiping the brush back over Malia's nail, picking up where she'd left off. "It wouldn't be fair to everyone else if I bent the rules for you."  
  
"I know," Malia mumbled.  
  
Kira gave a tiny smile to Malia. "It's okay. We'll figure something out."  
  
Malia nodded, then sucked in a huge breath.

*

The zipper to Mason's jacket was stuck. He narrowed his eyes at the useless pull tab. He ran his narrow fingers along the teeth of the zipper, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. Liam's eyes were glued to the window display. A tree was spinning, dressed in twinkling tinsel and tacky baubles.  
  
"How are you not cold?" Mason asked.  
  
Liam turned from the shop, starting toward their next destination. Mason fell into step with him easily. Liam shrugged, then combed a hand through his windblown hair. "Dunno," he said. "Maybe it's just a werewolf thing? Scott and Derek seem content to run around without their shirts on all the time."  
  
There was a beat of silence. Mason was staring off into some middle distance, away from Liam or the line of shops they were passing by. He had visibly perked up, a sideways smile sitting at his lips.  
  
"Stop that," Liam said, snapping Mason back to attention.  
  
"Stop what?"  
  
"Thinking about them shirtless!"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mason said, grinning. He took a few steps forward, breaking his evened pace with Liam. Liam took advantage of this, stomping on the back of Mason's shoe and causing it to slip off his heel. Mason yelped.  
  
Liam took the lead again, turning at the corner. Mason tucked his chin to his chest, fiddling with the tab on his jacket. "You know," Liam said, "I'm not even sure if she prefers Marvel or DC?"  
  
"I guess I should consider myself lucky."  
  
"Why's that?"  
  
"Lydia seems pretty easy to shop for," Mason replied. A wind shot down the street they were walking, and Mason burrowed into his jacket. It didn't do much to stop the chills rocketing up his arms. "I mean, I could get her a baseball bat, as a kind of homage to that one time we got stuck together at the school. I think I'm gonna get her some hair clips, though."  
  
"Yeah," Liam snorted, "and when she pulls a Gift of the Magi on you, you're gonna wish you went with the baseball bat."  
  
"She lives in a mansion," Mason deadpanned. "I don't think she'd chop off all her hair for Secret Santa."  
  
Liam grunted in place of a reply and paused at the comic book store. He shoved at the door, holding it open so Mason could walk through. A greasy college student was wandering the store, a Green Lantern shirt under his unbuttoned flannel.  
  
"He looks like he knows what he's doing," Liam said, nodding in the stranger's direction. "Maybe I could ask him for pointers. He probably knows if there's some kind of...comic book gray area that Kira would be happy with?"  
  
"I don't know if that's such a good idea," Mason mumbled, but Liam was already starting toward him. Mason rolled his eyes and followed close behind.  
  
As Mason had predicted, the random had been an absolute jerkoff. He tried to argue that there weren't any girls who were _real_ comic book fans, whatever that meant, and that Kira wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Batman and X-Men. It resulted in Liam digging his claws into his palms and Mason ushering him away to the other end of the store.  
  
Liam fought to get his breathing back under control. Mason started patting Liam's back, a gesture he hoped was comforting. They were lucky that Liam's eyes hadn't shined gold in that endeavor. It would have provided a conflict they weren't ready to confront.  
  
"Sorry," Liam muttered, dropping his head. His eyes were closed. His cheeks had gone splotchy red, the way they did when Liam got agitated. "That was my fault, sorry."  
  
"We didn't know he was going to be a dick," Mason reassured him.  
  
Liam didn't say anything. Mason could feel under the flat of his palm that his friend was still tense. Mason removed his hand and picked through the selection of comics, pulling an issue of Deadpool from the fray. He showed it to Liam.  
  
"Here, what do you think about this? Everyone loves Deadpool."  
  
Liam's eyes fluttered open. He looked from Mason, to the comic, and back to Mason. An infectious smile spread over his features, the kind of smile Mason couldn't resist returning.

*

"I don't understand why they want us to play."  
  
She was meticulous in her cleaning. Her handgun sat in pieces, disassembled on the coffee table. She was scrubbing a dry brush through the inside of the emptied magazine, her eyes dark as she concentrated. The strap of her bra was twisted and sliding off her shoulder. Derek leaned forward to fix it, appreciating the chills that pricked at her skin when his fingers brushed her collar.  
  
"They're excited. It's the holidays," he said, sitting back in the groove of the couch. "Everyone they know is coming back in town."  
  
"Friends and enemies alike, it seems," Braeden replied. She poked one of the solvent soaked patches into the barrel of the gun, following the direction of the bullet. "I'm here on business, remember?"  
  
"They don't know that."  
  
Once satisfied with the way the dull metal looked, she put the barrel back into its place. There was a click as the recoil spring locked into its channel. Starting from the front end of the gun, she pushed everything back together and racked the slide. Derek could hear the mechanism creaking inside the gun as she went through a series of function checks, testing the trigger. She admired the way the gun looked snug in her grip.  
  
"Would it be inappropriate to give him a Glock in a box?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Braeden sighed, setting the gun onto the table. Leaning forward had hiked her shirt up. Derek took the opportunity to drag his cold fingers along the strip of her skin. She stifled a shiver and swiveled to look at him.  
  
"Can I get him a boyfriend?"  
  
"I don't think so."  
  
"Worth a shot," she said, sounding resigned. She nestled in at Derek's side. She tugged him down for a kiss, their lips meeting warmly. His hand came to rest at the side of her face, brushing over the bumps of her scars at her neck. Even when they broke apart, he held onto her a second more, taking in the sight of her.  
  
Derek couldn't recall when exactly they'd last seen each other. She had gone off, taking up jobs across America for months at a time. They met up from time to time, and Derek was listed as one of her official contacts for when things got out of hand, but it was merely coincidence she'd been able to find work in Beacon Hills around December. Derek was glad for it, though she refused to say what the job entailed.  
  
He ran his thumb over the seam of her bottom lip. She stuck her tongue out, licking the whorl of his fingerprint. She didn't miss the way his mouth twitched into the tiniest of smiles. He moved to brush a lock of her hair out of her eyes, tucking it behind her ear.  
  
Braeden set her head onto his shoulder, content to listen to the thrum of his heartbeat. She could listen to his if he could listen to hers, right? All was fair when it came to werewolves. She heard him hum low in his throat. She glanced up at him.  
  
"Maybe it's Lydia's form of punishment," Derek said, "for me being related to Peter."  
  
The sound of heavy footsteps on the winding staircase thundered through the apartment. Peter appeared from the upstairs loft. Peter pulled at the dip of his v-neck, then folded his arms over his chest.  
  
"Please," he scoffed. "Lydia and I are on _wonderful_ terms with each other. I doubt she's still mad about me manipulating her into raising me from the dead. I'm expecting my invitation to her little playground party any day now."  
  
Peter paused. Derek and Braeden's eyes followed him as he strutted to the other end of the room. Braeden raised an eyebrow, questioning his usual display of dramatics. As if on cue, a straying sunbeam hit the window, casting Peter in what looked like a natural spotlight. Derek's face went blank, concealing his amusement.  
  
"Besides," Peter continued, "it's an honour to be related to me. Haven't you figured that out yet?"

*

Hours had passed, and they were still snug in the den. The fan stirred overhead, creaking and kicking up dust. Through the chilled window panes, the moon sat clean in the ink spill sky. Stiles was busy quoting Pulp Fiction, and he'd handed off the DS to Isaac a little over an hour ago. Isaac was content to run around on one of Stiles' save files instead of creating one of his own.  
  
"You want a soda?"  
  
Stiles looked comfortable, slumped against the pillows. Stiles had happily cocooned himself into the blanket Isaac had kicked off earlier. Isaac was surprised that Stiles was offering to get up from the couch at all.  
  
"I can get it," Isaac offered. "You want a ginger ale, right?"  
  
Stiles' eyes sparkled.  
  
Isaac shut the DS with a snap, placing it on the side table before getting up. He ambled across the house. Pins and needles shot down his leg as it started to wake up. The tiles of the kitchen were cold under his feet. He dug around the fridge, disappointed to find there was only one can of soda left.  
  
There was the distinct sound of a window opening upstairs. He shut the door of the fridge and concentrated, listening for the shuffle of socked feet on the carpet. Something rattled in Stiles' room. He sniffed at the air. It was difficult to separate the undercurrent of some earthy aroma from the overwhelming sting of nail polish. Isaac frowned.  
  
He padded back into the living room, holding the can of soda out to Stiles.  
  
"I think someone's in your room," Isaac said.  
  
"Oh, awesome!" Stiles took the soda and jumped up, pushing past Isaac to get to the stairs. He took them two at a time, disappearing into the second level of the house.  
  
Isaac sat down on the couch. He shifted around, trying to find that sweet spot of the sofa he'd been so comfortable in earlier, to no avail. There was the murmur of Stiles' voice upstairs, and a girl's voice that was mildly familiar. Isaac watched the movie flickering across the TV instead of tuning in to the conversation upstairs.  
  
Stiles came thumping down the stairs moments later, Malia in tow. Up close, it was easier for Isaac to identify what she smelled like. She embodied the forests and rainwater. Her smile was sharp and her hair was wild.  
  
"Malia, you remember Isaac?"  
  
Her fingers went to work at undoing the coat she was in. She shrugged it from her shoulders and left it on the back of the recliner. She scratched at the side of her face with green coated claws. "I think so," she said. "You stopped me from getting shot by my dad, right? You and...Allison?"  
  
Stiles rocked on his heels, clearly uncomfortable. Isaac's breath caught in his throat, but it turned to a wheeze of laughter when Malia shucked her sweatpants off to reveal a pair of Stiles' boxers clinging to the sway of her hips. Stiles flushed.  
  
"We haven't been properly introduced, though. Do you want to try it?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
Malia made herself comfortable, sitting close to Isaac. He looked over to Stiles, who hadn't quite recovered. He'd gone red to the tips of his ears. He popped open the can of ginger ale and sipped at it loudly. Stiles sat down on the opposite side of Malia, hooking their ankles together.  
  
"I'm Malia."  
  
"Isaac Argent," he returned.  
  
Malia didn't seem interested in shaking his hand. Her attention turned to seeking out one of the controllers. She stopped the Netflix playback. Stiles squawked when she paused at what he deemed to be the best part, even though he thought _every_ part of Pulp Fiction was the best part.  
  
"Wanna play some games?" she challenged.  
  
Isaac looked past her, back to Stiles. "Is she gonna kick my ass?"  
  
When Stiles smiled and gave him a thumbs up, it wasn't one of encouragement. Isaac was doomed.

*

Melissa was in a pair of polka dotted scrubs. Her hands were busy yanking out the elastic from her hair. Her frizzed curls spit out every which way when her ponytail came undone. She fired the elastic at Scott, who managed to catch it and shoot it back at her. She squealed, ducking in the driver's seat to avoid being hit.  
  
After she scooped up the hair tie from the floorboard and fixed it to her wrist, she turned the key in the ignition. She tapped the seat belt across her front, and Scott sighed. When he buckled in, she backed out of the hospital's parking lot.  
  
"How was work?" she asked, glancing in the rearview mirror. She brushed a curl from her face, then nudged the flat of her finger over the corner of her mouth, fixing her faded lipstick.  
  
Scott had picked up double shifts over the break, in an effort to get extra spending money for Christmas. Deaton understood why Scott wanted to work more hours at the clinic. When they weren't pulling vials of mountain ash from the shelves, the job served as a tether to Scott's humanity. A part of Scott always appreciated the duality that came with being a werewolf.  
  
It seemed silly, and he wasn't about to tell his mom that he liked pretending he was an average high schooler, so he stuck with a simplified answer. "It was good," Scott said. "Deaton told me to take tomorrow off."  
  
Melissa braked at one of the stop signs. "I think you should take more than tomorrow off," she admitted. "Isaac's in town, and you haven't been home to see him any. It's no wonder that boy has been spending all his time with Stiles. He's not going to want to stay in our empty house. He stayed with us because he wants to see you, Scott."  
  
Scott sniffed. He wiped under his nose with the back of his hand. "I know, but I'm not the only person who hasn't been around," he pointed out. "The Yukimuras took Malia to the aquarium in San Francisco for a Christmas present. Lydia and her mom got back from visiting Jackson in England around the same time Isaac flew in."  
  
She sighed. "All I'm saying is, don't be surprised if he's not home tonight."  
  
Scott nodded. He tapped the front of his phone, scrolling through his alerts. No missed calls, but there was a text waiting. It was from Kira, and he was sure that his mom was well aware of that, considering the lopsided grin he was currently wearing.  
  
**From Kira - 21:03**  
i miss you! when can we hang out?  
  
**To Kira - 21:25**  
soon? no work tmrw, dios bendiga :D :D  
  
**To Kira - 21:26**  
did u have fun with the fish?  
  
**From Kira - 21:28**  
yes!! had even more fun with the coyote  
  
**From Kira - 21:29**  
she ditched on our sleepover tho :(  
  
"Scott."  
  
He looked up from his phone, eyes big. He wedged his phone under his leg, ignoring that it buzzed with another message. "Yes?"  
  
"Do you need the car tonight?"  
  
Every time her index finger hit the steering wheel, it caused the bracelets at her wrist to jangle. It made it difficult for Scott to pay attention to her heartbeat when he asked, "Do you need it?"  
  
"Just wondering," she said.  
  
Okay, well, his mom was a terrible liar, and it didn't take supernatural abilities to figure that out. He didn't say anything. He pulled out his phone and hid his grin behind it, reading through what Kira sent him.  
  
**From Kira - 21:31**  
i think she went to see stiles?  
  
**To Kira - 21:35**  
can i count on u sneaking out 2 see me? :*  
  
**From Kira - 21:35**  
i couldn't do that to lydia! she did my nails.  
  
**To Kira - 21:36**  
pls  
  
**From Kira - 21:36**  
shh i'll see you tomorrow  <3 gtg  
  
**To Kira - 21:36**  
ok ok ok bye  <3  
  
Scott put the phone back into his pocket. He looked out the window, watching the streetlights blur as they drove past. "Are you going on a date?"  
  
She guffawed. "No, not a date. I'm meeting a friend for coffee."  
  
He looked at her and arched an eyebrow.  
  
"Don't give me that look," she said. "If you want to spend the night with Stiles, you're going to have to walk to his house. Is that okay?"  
  
Scott and Stiles lived in adjacent neighborhoods. A few blocks was all that stood between their houses. Stiles wasn't the most active person and he walked the distance often. It used to be difficult, when Scott was asthmatic and he tried to run the whole way, but things were drastically different now. Scott could make it without breaking a sweat.  
  
"I'll be fine. No inhaler required," he replied.  
  
When they pulled up in the driveway, Scott could already tell that Isaac wasn't there. The house was quiet. There wasn't a heart beating steadily in the living room, and there wasn't a trace of his scent to be found.  
  
Melissa noticed her son sniffing at the air. She went to unlock the front door, but Scott wasn't following her. "He's not here, is he?"  
  
"Hasn't been since this morning," Scott said.  
  
"No drugs, no unprotected sex, no staircase slides, and answer your phone when I call you," Melissa instructed, ticking off on her hands with each rule. "I want you and Isaac back here before dinner tomorrow, I'm taking you to that taco place downtown. Sound good?"  
  
Scott nodded. He kissed his mom on the cheek before darting off in the direction of Stiles' house. She shouted at him to be careful as he ran down the stretch of the street, to which he replied, "Have fun on your date!"  
  
Just before he went out of range, he heard her sigh in irritation.


	2. isaac + scott. [dec 21]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the rest of the chapters will be uploaded by tomorrow! stay safe over the holidays and, as always, thank you for reading ♡ ♡

When Isaac blinked awake, he found himself buried under several blankets and several more pillows. The misshapen nest of blankets they'd sprawled across the middle of the den was cozy. The air smelled sweet and buttery. The thrum of Malia's heart was directly to his left. It was steady, but her breathing wasn't. His leg bumped hers, and she pushed back, confirming that she was awake. Stiles was snug in her grasp. He was mumbling in his sleep, twitching minutely.  
  
He'd spent plenty of hours with Stiles, sure, but he hadn't slept over at his house before. Melissa felt more comfortable with Isaac coming home at a reasonable hour, and she made a habit of sticking post-it notes onto the fridge about leftovers. Nice as the gesture was, it didn't make him any less upset. Staying in the McCall's empty house was not how Isaac liked spending the nights of his vacation.  
  
His back hurt from sleeping on the floor. He preferred feeling sore to waking up alone in Scott's quiet bedroom.  
  
The offer to stay over had been extended to Malia, then to Scott when he came crashing in through the bedroom window. Isaac wondered if that was some strange pack etiquette that Sheriff Stilinski tolerated. From Isaac's place in the den, he could see the Sheriff at the kitchen table, sipping at a cup of coffee. Apparently, the Sheriff was also unperturbed by a living room filled to the brim with teenagers.  
  
The overload of blankets was getting warm to the point of uncomfortable. He kicked them away and sat up, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes. He shoved a hand into his curls, attempting to shape his bedhead into something presentable.  
  
The spot beside him had grown cold. Isaac had fallen asleep with Scott practically splayed over him. Now, Scott was nowhere to be found. Isaac pat the blankets uselessly. Isaac felt his stomach flip. If Scott had left in the morning without saying goodbye _again_...  
  
"Scott?"  
  
"In the kitchen," Malia said. Her voice came muffled. She was speaking into Stiles' shoulder, her hold on him subtly tightening when Stiles tried to flip over.  
  
Isaac stood up and padded into the kitchen, following the rich scent of syrup. The Sheriff said nothing in terms of a good morning. He merely nodded at Isaac as he went past, then continued to read the paper.  
  
Scott was at the stove. There was a paper plate placed on the counter, stacked with an impressive display of pancakes. He'd shuffled back into his pair of jeans since last night, but his hair was still messy from sleep. Scott caught Isaac's eye and shot him a crooked smile.  
  
"Merry Christmas," he said.  
  
Isaac blinked. "It's not Christmas yet."  
  
"Close enough, dude," Scott shrugged. He pointed the spatula at the pile of pancakes adjacent the stove. "Help yourself. I know blueberry's your favourite."  
  
Isaac kept quiet. He could hear Scott's heartbeat loud in his ears, and he was desperate not to listen. The thrum was persistent and comforting, like the alpha himself. Isaac was trying to be upset with him, though. He didn't want to be won over easy by a pancake and the pull of his packmate.  
  
"Apology pancakes," Isaac said.  
  
"Um, I was going for conciliatory?"  
  
Scott's word of the day calendar to the rescue. Isaac snorted.  
  
He stepped closer to Scott, floundering for a moment in search of plates and silverware. He hadn't made it past the pantry when it came to eating at Stiles' house yet. Scott pointed him in the right direction, then dumped the final pancake onto the top of the stack. Scott was adamant about serving Isaac the pancakes, giving him two for good measure.  
  
The butter and syrup were already on the table. The Sheriff had eaten earlier, as shown by a sticky plate set to the side. Sheriff Stilinski slurped at his coffee cup. Isaac took the seat next to him, cutting the pancakes in uneven lines. Scott moved to clean up the cooking station, and the Sheriff lowered his newspaper.  
  
"Scott, I'll get it. You can sit down and eat."  
  
"Thanks," Scott said, beaming at him.  
  
The tap squeaked as the Sheriff set to work on scrubbing the pan. Scott fixed a plate and bounced over to Isaac, sitting close to him. He felt the need to drop his voice to a whisper, but Isaac was sure Malia could still hear them over the rush of running water coming from the sink.  
  
"Isaac, I'm _sorry_. You know I missed you like crazy, right?"  
  
Isaac stuffed a bite of pancake into his mouth and chewed, staring directly at Scott with a blank expression. Isaac was well trained in concealing his expressions. It was the one useful thing he'd picked up when he'd lived with Derek.  
  
"We'll hang out soon, I promise. Please don't be mad at me."  
  
Isaac leaned forward and gently bonked his head onto Scott's. Scott laughed, but gave Isaac a perplexed look.  
  
"Did you just headbutt me?"  
  
Isaac smiled around a mouthful of pancakes, making Scott laugh even more.  
  
Malia glided into the kitchen, Stiles close behind. Stiles dug the heel of his palm into his eye and groaned like a zombie. His mood flipped completely at the sight of Scott's famous pancakes.  
  
"Scott, you sexy son of a bitch."  
  
Stiles pushed several onto a plate, whereas Malia was content with grabbing four to gorge on. She utilized none of the traditional accessories, including a fork. She was squirming around with excitement. Stiles attempted to talk her into cutting them to bits, without success on that front.  
  
"It's easier this way," Malia insisted, cramming one into her mouth and ripping it with her teeth.  
  
Isaac set his fork down. At the sound, Stiles looked over to him. Isaac, doing his best to keep a straight face, heaved one of the soggy pancakes off the plate. He held it between his fingers, ignoring the way it felt cold and slimy on his skin. It was far more enjoyable to revel in Malia's gleeful laughter as he took a bite.

*

Scott closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and listened.  
  
The tapping of buttons on the screen of a phone. The click of heels as someone stepped into an elevator. The hum of the fluorescent lighting above. Then, finally, he recognized the tinny tune to one of Kira's favourite songs.  
  
He pushed his way through the sea of shoppers. He went straight for the stairs, running down to the first floor. There was an overwhelming crowd inside the mall, featuring all ages. He'd been close to trampling a tiny old woman with hot pink sunglasses, then bumped into a family with four kids a moment after.  
  
Outside, blinking Christmas lights cast the shadows of the awning into a golden glow. The automatic door slid shut behind him, sealing all noise of the mall inside. It was cold, and his breath came in white plumes of smoke.  
  
Kira was wearing a knit sweater, her hands bundled up in the sleeves. Her jaw was locked tight, preventing her teeth from chattering together. When he tapped her shoulder, she jumped to attention. In one smooth motion, she tugged the headphones from her ears and wrapped them around her music player. She stuffed them down into her pocket.  
  
Scott could feel anxiety radiating from her. He was sure it had something to do with the horde of customers inside the shops. He led her away from the entrance to the mall. They found a quiet bench to curl up on, but the spike in her pulse hadn't settled.  
  
"What's this?" Scott asked, poking at the choker at her neck. It was the same material as a Christmas ribbon, fastened into a bow.  
  
"I'm your present," she said.  
  
She snuggled into the line of Scott's side. Her nose was cold when she kissed his cheek, making him shiver. His thumb skimmed over the ribbon. It felt scratchy under his fingertip.  
  
"Doesn't it itch?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
Scott pulled at the ribbon, undoing it. He put it into his pocket and kissed where her neck had gone red from the fabric. She pushed her hands into his hair and guided him to her lips, though they were smiling too much for it to be considered a proper kiss. Kira laced her fingers with Scott's, and he admired the painted patterns on her nails.  
  
"How's Isaac?" she asked.  
  
Scott's face fell. "Pissed off, probably. I didn't pick him up from the airport with Stiles like I was supposed to. I haven't hung out with him once since he got here. I don't even know if he still considers me his alpha," Scott said, distressed. "Maybe he'd feel better if he had his own pack. In France, I mean."  
  
Kira said nothing. She squeezed Scott's hand and rubbed her face at his shoulder, offering comfort. He turned to kiss the top of her head.  
  
"I should be able to see my girlfriend without feeling bad, though. It's not like I'm _dating_ Isaac," he grumbled.  
  
"Does Isaac know that?" Kira laughed.  
  
Scott narrowed his eyes, and she pressed a kiss to the side of his face.  
  
Somewhere in the middle of Kira's rundown of her trip to the aquarium with Malia, it got too cold to sit outside and ignore the prospect of shopping. They bumbled through the stores, getting distracted by anything with flashing lights or 'try me' buttons. They stopped in front of a line of printed scarves. Kira picked one off the rack, holding it out to Scott.  
  
"Too obvious?"  
  
The scarf was black and dotted in symbols that Scott didn't recognize. "Is this a Star Trek thing I'm not getting?" he asked, pointing at one in the shape of a spaceship.  
  
"Star Wars."  
  
"Sorry?"  
  
"It's Star Wars," she corrected, voice gentle, "not Star Trek."

*

Isaac paced about Scott's room. It was pleasantly cluttered with towers of books and the walls were plastered in posters. The shelves were filled with Scott's own collection of CDs and movies. Isaac dragged his fingertip down the spine of each case. The smooth plastic felt segmented, like the back of a beetle.  
  
He was at a loss of what to do. He didn't regret trading partners with Stiles, because Scott was arguably a thousand times better to buy a gift for than Derek. Despite this, Scott was still difficult to shop for. What did he need? What would he want? Everyone had to want _something_ ; yes, even someone as selfless as Scott. Isaac hadn't figured it out yet, that was all.  
  
He drifted downstairs, finding one of Melissa's notes stuck to the microwave. Isaac went through her numbered instructions, step by step. He burned his hand on one of the greasy slabs of reheated pizza, and watched as it mended, the flush to his fingers going pale. He carried the plate back to Scott's room, nudging the door open with a socked foot.  
  
Isaac's laptop sat on Scott's bed, open and intimidating. It whirred faintly when he roused the screen from darkness. He scrolled through the short list of Skype contacts, debating on whom to approach about his dilemma. He knew from enough conversations with Stiles to know that he was probably lurking on invisible, but the symbol beside Lydia's username was burning green like a beacon itself.  
  
He bit into the pizza and licked the grease off his fingers before setting the laptop over his knobby knees. He clicked her name and shot her a message, not giving himself the time to hesitate. The rattling emptiness of the McCall house was quickly filled with the tapping of Isaac's fingers at the keys.  
  
 **[4:11:28] scarvesex:** I need help

  
 **[4:11:43] arielsirenia:** With...?

  
 **[4:12:01] scarvesex:** shopping. figured you would be the best candidate?

  
 **[4:12:20] arielsirenia:** I'm listening.. :)

  
 **[4:12:42] scarvesex:** it's for secret santa. enlisting your help will be useless if you don't know who I got

  
 **[4:13:15] arielsirenia:** I play by the rules, sweetheart. No telling!

  
 **[4:13:23] scarvesex:** :(

  
 **[4:13:45] arielsirenia:** I know, I know. I'm a cruel mistress. Let me guess...Stiles and Malia wanted to go on a little playdate and you had to go back to Scott's by yourself?

  
 **[4:13:48] arielsirenia:** No doubt the house is empty, though. Kira told me about her outing with Scott. In fact, they're probably shopping as we speak.

  
 **[4:14:00] arielsirenia:** Don't you just love Christmas? So many stores, so little time.

  
 **[4:14:04] scarvesex:** not rly...not if I can't figure out what to buy

  
 **[4:14:31] arielsirenia:** That's what I'm here for. Duh! I'm excellent when it comes to shopping.

  
 **[4:14:39] scarvesex:** how are you going to help me if you don't know who we're shopping for?!

  
 **[4:15:12] arielsirenia:** Alright, fine...

  
 **[4:15:13] arielsirenia:** ...but only because I already know who Malia got. The rules have been broken once, what's a second time? This seems like a drastic enough occasion, don't you agree?

  
 **[4:15:27] scarvesex:** oook

  
 **[4:15:29] scarvesex:** wait who did malia get?

  
 **[4:15:44]** **arielsirenia:** Isaac.

  
 **[4:15:46] scarvesex:** she got me?

  
 **[4:16:10] arielsirenia:** No, she didn't get you!

  
 **[4:16:13] arielsirenia:** I was saying your name in a stern 'I'm-not-telling-you-that' manner. As in, I'm not telling!!

  
 **[4:16:16]** **arielsirenia:** Anyway. Who did you get, and why are they hard to shop for?

  
 **[4:17:01]** **scarvesex:** umm I got scott.

  
 **[4:17:11] arielsirenia:** Isaac, you're one of his best friends. You know him better than...Hmm, almost anyone in this group. Not counting Stiles, that is.

  
 **[4:17:14]** **arielsirenia:** Honestly, I don't know why you're asking me for help. Except for the fact your taste in jackets obviously means you have a tough time with brand names. :P

  
 **[4:17:29] scarvesex:** it just doesn't seem like he needs anything. let alone something from me

  
 **[4:17:45] arielsirenia:** He loves you! He'll love anything you buy for him.  
  
Isaac read through the message once. Twice. A third time to be sure.  
  
He scrubbed at his face, which felt warm under his hand. He was hyper-aware of the fact Scott's bedroom smelled vaguely of Kira, like a needle at his gut. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to force down the blush that was climbing down his neck and up into his curls.  
  
"So stupid," Isaac muttered.  
  
His computer pinged a second time.  
  
 **[4:20:18] arielsirenia:** Isaac?

  
 **[4:20:20] scarvesex:** sorry. um

  
 **[4:20:23] scarvesex:** I'll try to think of something he might want. you'll help me, right? I really need your help

  
 **[4:20:28] arielsirenia:** *Sigh* Yes, I'll help...even though I know you can find a present for him on your own.

  
 **[4:20:35] scarvesex:** B)

  
 **[4:20:36] scarvesex:** thank u

  
 **[4:21:41] arielsirenia:** I'm on my way to pick you up. Be ready by the time I get there!!  
  
He shoved the rest of the pizza into his mouth and shut his laptop. He hurried down the stairs to put on his shoes. He felt embarrassingly like an excited dog as he waited near the door, holding his knees and gnawing on the bones of his pizza.  
  
He heard the squeal of Lydia's tires long before she pulled to a stop in the driveway. Isaac grabbed his phone and met her outside. Her eyeliner was dotted in sparkling gold, and she had pinned a poinsettia into her strawberry braid. She didn't seem bothered to be wearing a tiny skirt in the cool air.  
  
"Shall we?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him.  
  
Isaac walked around to the passenger's side. He didn't have any clue on where to go first, which was fine with Lydia, because she had somehow stitched together an entire shopping montage in under five minutes.  
  
"He still considers you part of his pack," Lydia said, the gearshift clunking under her thin fingers. "I'm sure you consider him your alpha, even after all this time."  
  
Isaac didn't say anything. He sat on his hands to keep them from pulling at his hair. Lydia gave him a knowing look. He felt his face going red, and this time, there wasn't a screen for him to hide behind.

*

Isaac drifted in on a cloud of Lydia's perfume. The scarf draped at his neck was embellished with a poinsettia, most likely the cause of Lydia's lingering scent on the beta. Isaac was holding a plastic bag close to his chest. He followed the sounds of paper shredding and Scott's mumbled expletives into the kitchen, where Scott was seated at the table.  
  
There was a box, covered in silver wrapping paper. The top flap was loose without tape, and there was a gash in the paper at the side. Scott's claws were extended, a piece of tape stuck to the back of his hand. Scott spit paper onto the table.  
  
"I can't get it," Scott said.  
  
Isaac set the plastic bag on the table and grabbed the tape dispenser. He held the flap down and stuck the strip across it, successfully keeping the paper in place. He set to work on covering the rip in the gift wrap. When Isaac had finished, it looked as if nothing had happened. Scott smoothed his hand over the box. Isaac reached over and peeled off the tape stuck to his knuckle.  
  
"Scott, did you forget to tell Isaac we were going out tonight?" came Melissa's voice, followed by the click of her shoes on the stairs. Scott perked up at the sound of Melissa's steps. She appeared in the gaping doorway, her fingers struggling to clip in one of her earrings. Her clothing was impeccable and the line of lipstick at her mouth was subtle.  
  
"We're going out?" Isaac asked.  
  
Melissa gave Scott a scathing look.  
  
"Get in the car," she said, crossing her arms.  
  
Scott scrambled to a stand and bolted through the front door. He waited in the cramped backseat for no more than three minutes, but it felt like an eternity. He burrowed down into his thin jacket and pressed his cheek against the cold window, smudging the glass. He heard Melissa's keys jangling and the crunch of asphalt. When he opened his eyes, Isaac was sliding into the passenger seat and Melissa was pushing the key into the ignition.  
  
"Mom, why are you so dressed up? We're just going to Garcia's," Scott said, peeking his head between the front seats. Isaac scratched the top of Scott's head, and he'd be lying if he said he didn't lean into the contact.  
  
"Going out to dinner is an occasion where I can dress up, Scott," she replied. She pushed at his shoulder, forcing him to sit back before she pulled away from the house.  
  
"You look beautiful," Isaac said.  
  
Melissa was busy thanking him and didn't see when Isaac turned around to give Scott a shit-eating grin. She did, however, see Scott clearly mouthing the words 'fuck you' and threatened to leave Scott at home.  
  
Isaac chewed on his bottom lip and turned around. Scott could see that Isaac's shoulders were shaking. His laughter was threatening to slip out despite his stifling. Scott huffed and kicked the back of Isaac's seat.  
  
When they came to a stop outside the restaurant, Scott grabbed onto Isaac the minute they were both out of the car. They shoved at each other until Melissa snapped at them to stop.  
  
"You owe me," Scott hissed.  
  
Isaac said nothing. Scott jabbed Isaac in the side, tickling him. Isaac refused to laugh, but that didn't stop him from squirming all over the place as he tried to get away. It's not like he had anywhere to go, though. The waiting room at Garcia's was small and Scott was cornering him at one of the potted plants. Scott slipped one hand under Isaac's thick scarf and tickled his neck.  
  
"Alright, fine," Isaac relented, thrashing helplessly.  
  
Scott's hands stilled and he smiled. Isaac stood up straighter, trying to compose himself in front of the waitress. They were silent as the waitress led them to their booth. Scott and Isaac opted to squish together on one side, Melissa taking the spot across them. She helped herself to the chips on the table.  
  
Isaac turned back to Scott. One hand went to his scarf, fixing where Scott had tugged on it especially hard. "What do you want?"  
  
"I want your flower."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Can I have the flower?"  
  
Isaac sighed. He went limp like a rag doll as Scott unclipped the poinsettia from its place. Isaac helped put the flower into Scott's tousled hair. Scott looked to Melissa and grinned.  
  
"That's beautiful, honey," she said. "Are you done?"  
  
Scott and Isaac looked at each other, then back to Melissa. They nodded vigorously. She slid the bowl of chips across the table and watched as they bumped elbows and bickered about the salsa.

*

Scott was nesting somewhere in the heap of blankets on his bed, scrolling through alerts on his phone while Isaac sat in the chair with the laptop on his legs. Ironically, Isaac's boxers were patterned with the American flag. His cursor was hovering over Stiles' username when his Skype lit up with a message from the spastic himself.  
  
 **[11:01:32] dccomicradio:** yoooo  
  
 **[11:01:33] dccomicradio:** lydia told me u went shopping with her today  
  
 **[11:01:36] scarvesex:** mhm  
  
 **[11:01:40] scarvesex:** I got scott a present. she didn't tell you what I got him?  
  
 **[11:02:03] dccomicradio:** nah, u know how she is about keeping secrets  
  
 **[11:02:05] dccomicradio:** guess i'll see at the party tho so it doesnt matter  
  
 **[11:02:08] dccomicradio:** ur welcome  
  
 **[11:02:12] scarvesex:** why am I thanking you, exactly?  
  
 **[11:02:17] dccomicradio:** ohhh come on lover boy ;)  
  
 **[11:02:19] dccomicradio:** u kno why  
  
 **[11:02:20] dccomicradio:** well, other than saving u from the awkwardness that would be u buying derek a gift, that is. btw derek was super easy to shop for  
  
 **[11:02:24] scarvesex:** shut up  
  
 **[11:02:28] dccomicradio:** ;)  
  
 **[11:02:30] scarvesex:** what did you get derek?  
  
 **[11:02:32] dccomicradio:** ;)))  
  
 **[11:02:35] scarvesex:** stop it.  
  
 **[11:02:37] dccomicradio:** isaac why must u hurt me in this way  
  
 **[11:02:42] scarvesex:** no. I'm going to bed  
  
 **[11:02:46] dccomicradio:** ;(  
  
Isaac shut his laptop with a snap. The noise got Scott's attention, and he looked up from his phone. Isaac stood from the plush chair, holding the computer under one arm. Scott wiggled under the covers, shifting to lay on his back. He dropped his phone to the side and watched as Isaac stooped to unplug his charger.  
  
"Why don't you stay in here?"  
  
Isaac's grip on the chord slackened. Isaac wasn't facing him, but there was another smooth sound that he recognized as Scott's skin on the sheets. "Are you sure?" His voice was disembodied and small. Isaac hadn't even felt the question pass his lips.  
  
"Yeah," Scott said. "Why not? I haven't seen enough of you this week."  
  
Isaac set his computer gently on the carpet. He stood up and shifted on his heels, nervous. The blankets were pulled back, leaving a space for him on Scott's bed. Scott had moved out from the middle of the bed and wasn't even looking at Isaac anymore. He was back on his phone, tabbing through a page on Facebook.  
  
"I don't want to bother you."  
  
"You never bother me," Scott insisted.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Isaac carefully got into the bed. Scott threw one of his legs over both of Isaac's and settled in at Isaac's side. "Watch this Vine," Scott said. He angled the phone toward Isaac and hit the volume button with his thumb.  
  
Isaac huffed a laugh, which Scott considered a green light on the user he'd picked to showcase. They went through the entire profile until they were dizzy with laughter. Scott was coming close to tickling Isaac for a second time that night with the way his hand kept brushing Isaac's side. One video in particular had them both cracking up. A bundled pair of Melissa's socks came flying through the doorway with an order for them to go to bed.  
  
They squeezed together beneath the blanket, shushing each other. Scott held the phone to his bare chest, keeping the light from shining into the darkness of the room. There was a resounding clunk from the pull chain to the lamp at Melissa's bedside. They listened and waited for her breathing to even out.  
  
"I think we should sleep," Scott whispered.  
  
Isaac nodded. Scott stuck his pinky finger into one of Isaac's curls. When it sprung back, he looked ecstatic. Then, he flipped onto his side and set his phone next to the poinsettia on his side table.  
  
Isaac turned away from Scott. He buried his face into the pillow and breathed in. There was a relay of smells, overlapping and weaved together. As Derek would have told him, scents have a story.  
  
Over anything else, Isaac could smell Scott's shampoo. Under that, an electric buzz filled his nose that he identified as Kira. Even fainter, there was a distinctive greasiness Isaac had come to associate with Stiles, and even fainter still...  
  
Allison.  
  
Isaac's heart fluttered like a bird slamming against the bars of a cage. Scott must have noticed, because Isaac felt the warmth of the alpha nestling in behind him. Scott threw an arm over Isaac's waist.  
  
Isaac held the pillow tighter and tried to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone was wondering, here's [the scarf's design in the scott/kira scene](http://a.tgcdn.net/images/products/additional/large/1f67_sw_logos_infinity_scarf_design.jpg)


	3. stiles + malia. [dec 22]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, drama!

In less than a week, all of the progress Malia made had been undone.  
  
She'd woken up with a sour expression and a storm cloud at her forehead. Rather than brushing through her hair, she'd left it to get ratty over the weekend. Stiles moved to pick out the leaves, and she snarled at him for trying. She tore through her meals with claws and fangs. She refused to go through the motions of a morning routine that Lydia had instilled in her months before. Her face was sun kissed and pretty without make up. She didn't have to wear it, but that wasn't the point of the exercise. Following a routine was to help her acclimate easier. Stiles couldn't figure out what was _wrong._  
  
Then, there was a knock at his window.  
  
His bedroom window was frequently used as a werewolf commute, which meant it was highly unlikely for anyone to actually knock. Stiles pulled the blinds and opened the window. Isaac stuck his head inside and straddled the window sill. He gripped at Stiles' flannel to keep himself from tipping over. Stepping into the room, he asked, "Can I come in?"  
  
Malia was on the bed, legs crossed and deliberately chipping her nail polish. Isaac was already upright and in front of Stiles' dresser, but Malia invited him in anyway. She looked happier than she had all morning. Stiles felt his stomach drop.  
  
"Scott ditch you again?" He tried to keep his voice light and teasing, but Isaac was looking at him with concern and Malia was tilting her head in confusion. Damn werewolves, always picking up on the slightest stutter of his heart.  
  
"Sorry, am I interrupting something?" Isaac asked, curling in on himself, and no one with his height should be able to make themselves so small.  
  
"No," Malia hurried to say. She squirmed around on the bed, making room for Isaac to sit down. Stiles grabbed Isaac's sleeve before he had the chance.  
  
"We need to talk," he said.  
  
He dragged Isaac into the hallway and shut the door. Stiles wasn't doing the best job of keeping his composure, though he knew it didn't matter much. Isaac and Malia could see right through his facade. He didn't let go of Isaac's jacket. Instead, he gripped tighter.  
  
"You're encouraging her to act out," Stiles hissed.  
  
"I'm not _encouraging_ her to do anything. I said she should do what she wants, not what everyone wants her to do," Isaac returned, narrowing his eyes. "She's almost eighteen, she can decide what's best for herself."  
  
"You barely know her, alright? She's close to graduating high school," he said. "She's smart, she's beautiful, and she can get somewhere in life if she knows how to make an impression. What kind of impression do you think she's going to leave people with if she doesn't eat with a fork, Isaac?"  
  
"I know her," Isaac protested. He wrenched his arm free of Stiles' hold. "If you haven't noticed, we've been bonding pretty well since I've been here."  
  
"Yeah, since you've _been_ here," Stiles scoffed. "Not everyone can pick up and leave their lives behind."  
  
"You're saying she's got a life in Beacon Hills? She doesn't have to act human if she doesn't want to, Stiles!"  
  
"She does want to," he insisted. "She's wanted to for the past semester, she's wanted to since she got out of Eichen--"  
  
The door squeaked open. Stiles and Isaac flinched away from each other. The light from Stiles' room flooded through the doorway, casting Malia in a dangerous silhouette. Her eyes were bleeding a bright blue, and yeah, it was apparent from her expression that she'd heard everything.  
  
"Is anyone going to ask me what I want?"  
  
When Stiles opened his mouth to speak, she pushed past him to get to the stairs. She didn't say where she was going, but wherever it was, she left without her shoes. Stiles stared after her, his fingers turning numb.

*

The grit of asphalt dug into the soles of her feet as she walked. She was bleeding along the sidewalk, dotting the cement with dark red as her claws dug into her palms. She counted the rise and fall of each breath. She thought of tangled hair and whiskey eyes, because she often thought of Stiles to calm her down, but it wasn't working. This time, she felt her breath catch in her throat and her eyes pricked with tears.  
  
She ducked into a side street and started running, desperate to clear her head. It didn't faze her to splash through a puddle collecting at a pothole in the road. She pretended the buildings were lines of tall trees. Her claws retracted with every step.  
  
The brick building was empty. Her chest heaved as she took the stairs two at a time. She threw herself at Derek's loft, slamming her fists on the door in time with her beating heart.  
  
Except it wasn't Derek who answered the door. It was Peter.  
  
"What a dramatic entrance," he said, the corners of his mouth flipping to a smile. "Let me guess, you get it from your father?"  
  
"You're supposed to be in..." she trailed off, looking dumbfounded.  
  
"Eichen House?" he finished.  
  
Malia nodded, avoiding his fixed stare. He turned his back, sauntering to the couch. There was a glass at the table, filled with a bubbling liquid. She didn't follow him into the room. She stayed stiff at the door. He raised the glass to his lips and drained the fizzing drink in one go. He held it delicately in his hand, admiring his reflection in the curved surface.  
  
"So are you."  
  
"Is Derek here?" she asked, annoyed.  
  
"No," he replied. "He said you might stop by, though. He also said I shouldn't talk to you, yet here we are. Talking."  
  
He leaned forward and set the glass onto the table. He came to a stand, passing her by to shut the door. He circled her, once, his eyes scanning her form. Leaf-riddled locks and bare feet. It made him laugh. She bristled at the sound.  
  
"That's a good look for you. Very natural," he said. "Not sure Stiles will approve, but he doesn't always know what's best, now does he?"  
  
"I want to talk to Derek."  
  
Peter rolled his eyes. He walked the length of the loft, stopping at the window. He dragged a claw through the gathered condensation. The glass squealed.  
  
"He's the one who let me out, you know. He felt bad for keeping me in a nuthouse for Christmas," he sighed, dropping his hand back to his side. "Not in so many words, of course, but that's Derek for you."  
  
Malia inched toward Peter, curious to see what he'd drawn. It was smudging with waterdrops, but she recognized it as three eyes in the shape of a triangle. He reached out and smeared his hand through the fog, erasing the image. She grimaced.  
  
"What does it mean?"  
  
He plucked a leaf from her hair and presented it to her.  
  
"Why don't you tell me what this means instead?" he asked, then dropped the leaf. He let it drift to the floor. She watched with wide eyes.  
  
Peter was at the bar in seconds, retrieving a second glass and pouring out the bubbling drink from a bottle. She accepted it with trembling fingers. He led her to the couch, where he sprawled out on one side and she sat on the other. She tucked her legs up under her, streaking mud on the cushions. If Peter noticed, he didn't comment.  
  
Peter had refilled his own glass. When he drank, she mirrored the action tentatively. It tasted tangy and bright on her tongue. She couldn't place what it was, though she felt it buzzing all the way down.  
  
"I thought wolves couldn't get drunk?"  
  
Peter shrugged, swirling the liquid around with a flick of his wrist.  
  
"I don't know if I want to talk to you," Malia admitted.  
  
"That's fine."  
  
For some reason, his indifference was what got her to open up. She crushed the glass to her lips, drinking sloppily. Drops rolled down her chin and it burned her throat. She refused to let up until she'd finished it all. Her face flushed and she felt lightheaded. Peter plucked the chalice from her fingers and set it on the coffee table beside his own. Without it still in her hand, she felt weightless. She hugged her knees so she wouldn't sway and fall off the couch.  
  
"I don't know if I want to be more human than wolf," she said. "I don't know if I want to be more wolf than human, either. I'm tired of Stiles and Lydia--I mean, I appreciate everything they did for me, but I'm tired of them treating me like I wouldn't be able to function without them. What if they want to change me?"  
  
"They do."  
  
Malia winced.  
  
"Isaac says I should do what I want."  
  
"He's right," Peter said. His reply was immediate. Confident. His heartbeat was steady. His voice didn't waver. Malia despised the fact she wanted to trust him a second time. When she didn't answer, he filled the silence with his own words. "Why are you letting them control you, Malia? You're stronger than that. You're _smarter_ than that. You're a Hale, not a welcome mat."  
  
"I don't--"  
  
She faltered, her lip quivering. She stared at the ceiling and groaned in frustration, reaching for the words.  
  
"I don't know who I am," she tried again.  
  
"I can help you find out."  
  
"Really?" she asked. Malia looked at him, and he smiled. She rubbed at her legs nervously, feeling her pulse jump under his concentrated stare. Peter tapped his fingers, drummed them idly at the back of the couch. The action made Malia relax, and if it was because it reminded her of Stiles, she wasn't going to say that out loud.  
  
"Of course," he said. "That's what family is for."

*

Lydia's lipstick stained the edge of the mug. The foam from the latte was caramelized and swirled into patterns, which she dispersed with her spoon. She poked the toe of her boot against Stiles' calf.  
  
Stiles was introspective at the worst moments, it seemed. Lydia's brow was pinched, her mouth a small line. He must have blanked out while she was talking. He dropped his head to the table, closing his eyes and waiting for Lydia to reprimand him, because how dare he not treat her like the centre of the universe? At least, Stiles liked to believe Lydia thought in such extreme statements. The reality was nowhere close, but he liked to pretend she was as dramatic as him.  
  
She didn't say anything, though. She sipped on her coffee and pressed her boot to Stiles' leg a second time. She was waiting for Stiles to explain what had put him in a foul mood. She had acquired a soft spot for Isaac, though, so he didn't want to piss on her Christmas cheer and tell her they got into a fight. Even worse, he didn't want to tell her that he was fighting with Malia, too.  
  
Lydia pushed her coffee close to him. He could feel the heat radiating from the mug. He lifted his head, peering into the sweeping patterns of foam. He made a face at Lydia.  
  
"Try it?"  
  
He did. It was sweeter than he liked, but the caffeine was what had him taking another sip, and another, until Lydia was coaxing it out of his grip so she could finish it off. It kicked him into gear. Suddenly his mouth was running and he had no foreseeable way of stopping it, which was probably what Lydia wanted.  
  
"I messed up," he spit out. "I fixed stuff with Isaac _sort of,_ but I don't know where Malia is and she's not answering my texts. She's upset because I didn't think about what she wants, which is a good point, but she wanted to do everything we said until Isaac got here, and I don't know what--"  
  
Stiles had his ankles crossed under the table. He went quiet when he felt Lydia nudging his legs apart. She put her own between his, and Stiles let out a slow breath. He felt the need to run his mouth, so he jammed his thumb against his teeth, biting the skin anxiously.  
  
Lydia dug her phone out from her bag. She swiped her finger along the screen, and it beeped at her with a message before she had the chance to put it back down.  
  
"Who is that?" Stiles asked, muffled around his finger.  
  
"Malia," she replied.  
  
"Can I see?"  
  
Lydia wrapped her hand around Stiles' wrist and guided his fingers away from his mouth. She turned the phone toward him, letting him read the exchange.  
  
 **To Malia - 1:06**  
Still meeting with Kira and I at the coffee shop today?  
  
 **From Malia - 1:07**  
sure  
  
 **From Malia - 1:07**  
might run late  
  
"I'll talk to her," Lydia said. "She's upset about conforming to the conventions of society. I get it. Last time she was waddling around on two legs, there wasn't a mold for her to fit into. She was a child."  
  
Stiles nodded, picking at the surface of the table.  
  
"I assume she's taken her rebellion to an extreme," Lydia went on. "She stopped brushing her hair, didn't she?"  
  
Stiles slumped in his seat.  
  
"And Isaac got involved?"  
  
"Isaac incited the whole freaking _riot_ ," Stiles grumbled. "He doesn't get it. She was doing really well. We were handling it!"  
  
"Yes, we were," Lydia said. "We still are."  
  
They waited a moment more, watching each other. He bounced his knee to occupy their silence, which she felt against the stretch of her stocking. His chest was getting tighter with each passing breath, words reeling through his mind. His mouth fell open, but Lydia stopped him before he could speak.  
  
"I know," she said. "You don't want to, but you've gotta go. You don't want Malia catching you in here if she's still angry."  
  
He grinned, because yeah. Lydia understood him perfectly. As much as he liked to talk, it was nice that she could fill in the blanks for him sometimes. She tucked a stray lock behind her ear, looking at him expectantly as he got up. He ducked in and kissed her cheek, then stole a last sip from her latte. She laughed brightly, waving her hand at him.  
  
"Go," she said, and he did.

*

She watched the bubbles rise in her cup--although it was too formal to be a cup. In regards to Peter's taste, nothing was as plain as a cup. It was more a goblet, if anything. She hiccuped and laughed, holding it out to him. He refilled it without a word.  
  
Each time they lapsed into silence, Peter refused to break it. He only spoke when prompted, and Malia was having a difficult time piecing sentences together at the moment. She knew it had something to do with what was in her drink. That's why she took another sip.  
  
The bottle emptied on their third round of drinks. The bubbling concoction coursed through her. At the end of every sip, her chest bloomed with warmth. She fumbled to set the glass onto the table so she could lie down. When she sprawled the expanse of the couch, she came close to touching Peter, but not quite.  
  
Her head was swimming and her legs felt like static. It took her a second to realize that it was her phone humming in her pocket, not another side effect.  
  
She pawed at her pocket, managing to get the phone out on her second try. She saw Lydia's name on the screen and her cheeks went hot with anger. She struggled to sit up, then threw the phone in the direction of the bar.  
  
Peter caught it easily. It hadn't gone far from her fingers before it was in his grip. His eyes scanned the contents of the message. A second later and Peter had replied to Lydia's text with two of his own.  
  
"What did you say?" Malia asked.  
  
Peter passed her the phone. She read through it, then dropped the phone onto her lap. She slumped against the cushions.  
  
"I don't want to see her," she said.  
  
"They're your friends. You should spend time with them."  
  
She narrowed her eyes. "I thought you said they wanted to change me?"  
  
"They're going to try," Peter said. "You aren't going to let them. Establishing personal boundaries doesn't mean you have to throw out all of your connections in the process. I'd be careful when it comes to Lydia, though. If she's talked with Stiles at all, she's going to side with him."  
  
"So," Malia said, dragging out the vowel. "You want me to meet up with her to make a point."  
  
"Yes, but--" He paused to drink. He flicked his tongue over his lips, staring out at the empty loft rather than at her. "--you can't go into a coffee shop looking like that."  
  
"You sound like Stiles."  
  
"Be presentable, not pliable," Peter sighed. "Society's got rules, sweetheart. It's good to learn them. We work within the guidelines. Standing out is how you get caught by a hunter, and I'm not talking about what's left of the Argents."  
  
She stumbled off the couch and up the stairs. As much as she hated cold water, it brought her back to her senses as she sat inside Derek's shower. She threaded her fingers through her hair, pulling out twigs and leaves. She watched them swirl in a flurry of autumn colours down the drain. "Pain keeps you human," she mumbled, and she scrubbed at her skin until it was raw.  
  
Her metabolism was fighting to get her sober. She toweled off and tucked the cloth around her bronze body. She couldn't find a brush, so she ran her claws through her hair a few times over and hoped for the best. She squeezed back into her clothes, stepped into a pair of Braeden's boots, and snagged one of Derek's leather jackets from his closet.  
  
Back downstairs, Peter was at the bar, rearranging bottles. They clinked together, ringing through the apartment. He didn't say goodbye. He knew that she would be back, in time.  
  
Malia jogged through the foggy streets. The sun wasn't doing much to counteract the biting wind. She didn't need directions to know where she was going. She was tracking the sharp scent of electricity that followed Kira. It stung, evoking a near visceral reaction if Malia focused on it enough. It directed Malia to the automatic doors of a Starbucks, sandwiched between two other stores.  
  
Kira waved Malia over, then dipped her cookie into Lydia's mug. A poinsettia flower kept Kira's hair from falling into her eyes. It was a bloom of colour in the dark of her locks. Malia heard Lydia's voice carry through the coffee shop.  
  
"I told you," Lydia said.  
  
Three paces more and Malia was at her side. Kira's eyes hadn't left Malia since she'd stepped into the building. "Told her what?" Malia asked.  
  
"Kira was worried you wouldn't show up."  
  
There was a splash. Malia and Lydia snapped to look at Kira, who was lifting her cookie from the latte. It was hardly a cookie anymore. What was left was in the shape of a crescent moon, and the rest had fallen into the drink. "Oops. Sorry," she laughed, glancing nervously to Lydia.  
  
"It's fine." Lydia pushed the drink closer to the middle of the table. "It's my second cup, anyway. I shouldn't have ordered it."  
  
"Can I have it?" Malia asked.  
  
"All yours," Lydia said.  
  
Malia reached across the table, her fingers curling around the handle. She caught the wavering scent of someone familiar. She pulled back from the mug and lifted her nose, sniffing at the air.  
  
"Is Stiles here?"  
  
"Does it _look_ like Stiles is here?" Lydia returned.  
  
Malia got closer to Lydia, snuffling loudly. Lydia placed a delicate hand onto Malia's shoulder. Malia reeled away from the redhead. She pulled Derek's jacket closer to her form and dug her chipped nails into the leather.  
  
"You talked to him," Malia accused. "You aren't even going to listen to what I have to say, are you? You've made your choice." Squeezing her eyes shut, she whispered, "This is _exactly_ what Peter said you would do."  
  
Lydia's heart leaped at the name. Malia could hear it clearly. Lydia's pulse was roaring in her ears, and it was overwhelming. She wanted to feel the ground under her bare feet again, wanted to dig her claws into the earth and run so she wouldn't have to hear the heartbeat of a banshee ever again.  
  
"You talked to Peter?"  
  
"So what if I did?" Malia spat.  
  
Kira reached for Malia's hand. "Malia, I don't think this is the best place to--"  
  
"Don't touch me," Malia said, voice breaking. She ripped her hand from the slightest contact like it burned. She opened her eyes to find that some of the customers were watching her outburst. She ignored them and stared out the window, watching a tree as it swayed in the wind. It looked small in the midst of the cityscape. It looked _smothered_.  
  
Malia turned on her heel and ran.

*

Stiles tangled his fingers in twine. He watched as his fingertips went purple, wrapped tight in red lines of yarn. The repetitive process kept his mind from dwelling too long on anything else. He'd made the mistake of talking to Isaac on Skype, then trying to text Scott, but none of the conversations had panned out the way he wanted them to.  
  
His phone was set on a white noise app he'd downloaded for Malia, because she had difficulty sleeping without the sounds of the forest around her. Listening to it made him pull the string tighter at his skin. He felt his finger throbbing in time with his heart.  
  
Under the noise of birdsong and rainfall, he heard the window creak open. From the corner of his eye, he recognized the shined leather of Derek's jacket. He sighed, keeping his back to him. He unraveled the strands, watching as his skin drained out.  
  
"I don't need you sneaking in here and glowering at me, Derek," he said, picking at a hangnail until it flushed with blood. He brought his hand to his mouth and bit at the skin there. "I know I messed up."  
  
Derek, ever the conversational partner, said nothing.  
  
Stiles went back to wrapping his spit-covered fingers in yarn. "I should have asked her what she wanted to do," he sighed. "That way, even if she doesn't know _what_ she wants, she could have told me that herself."  
  
There was a roll of thunder from the speakers on his phone. It sounded metallic and distant. The patter of rain rushed to fill the silence hanging in Stiles' room.  
  
"If she doesn't want to be with me after this, I'd understand. I wouldn't want that for us, but that's what screwed everything up in the first place, wasn't it? I kept trying to put what I wanted before what she wanted," Stiles mumbled. "I'm a selfish asshole, and honestly? Isaac's right. She's a werewolf, and if she decides that she doesn't want to keep up with society like the rest of us, I wouldn't stop her."  
  
He heard Derek shift, the leather of his jacket squeaking. The action was restless, which...okay, it was weird. Derek was never restless. Maybe Stiles pouring his heart out to the doom-and-gloom wolf of the pack wasn't the best idea? He was probably making Derek uncomfortable. Stiles swiveled the computer chair around, expecting to find Derek wearing his trademark grimace.  
  
His eyes widened.  
  
"You wouldn't stop me?"  
  
Her hair fell in a cascade of gold around her shoulders, around the collar to Derek's jacket. She stepped closer, taking the thread from Stiles' fingers. Her hands felt soft in comparison to his own, which he'd spent the afternoon butchering. He stood quickly, wanting to be close to her. He would have lost his balance if she weren't there to steady him. Her hands fell to his waist.  
  
"I wouldn't," he said quietly.  
  
She pressed her mouth to his. Her hands turned to fists at the line of his waist, holding onto the fabric of his shirt. He barely had time to process that she'd kissed him before she was pulling back again.  
  
"You don't want to change me."  
  
"I don't," he agreed. "I'm trying to look out for you. If you wanted, you could do incredible things with your life. Or, you could go back to living in a cave, which is bordering Bear Grylls but also kind of badass. It's your decision. Until then, you're going to have to adjust to some things, you know?"  
  
She nodded, looking down. He kissed the top of her forehead, and she buried her face in his chest, hugging him tightly. "Maybe we could try things my way?" she suggested, and Stiles felt the words against his chest more than he heard them.  
  
"Malia, forks are a necessary evil."  
  
She sighed, pressing closer to him. He didn't have to see her face to know that she was frowning. He scratched at her scalp with his bitten down nails.  
  
"We'll figure something out. I promise."  
  
And if he found a snapped twig somewhere in the tangles of her hair, well, he wasn't going to comment.


	4. lydia. [dec 23]

Her breakfast tasted like ash from a spitfire. Considering her mother's sudden health kick, it wouldn't be the first time. She wasn't an idiot, though. She knew this wasn't what free-range chicken eggs were supposed to do when scrambled. Lydia continued to pick at her plate, ignoring the feeling of her meal crumbling to powder in her mouth.  
  
"Did you need the keys to the lake house this week, sweetie?" Natalie asked, shoveling toast into her mouth. She sat directly across from her daughter, but the length of the table kept them worlds away.  
  
Lydia stifled a cough. She took a sip of her water, wanting to wash out the flecks of ash that were caking her tongue. "If you don't mind?" she asked, voice strained.  
  
"They're all yours," Natalie said, brushing her bangs from her eyes. "Try not to make a mess of the kitchen this time, okay?"  
  
Lydia sputtered a second time, gagging as a flurry of ash spewed from her lips. She wiped at the table, offering her mother a forced smile before excusing herself. Natalie didn't watch as Lydia stumbled away from the table.  
  
Lydia should have known better, though. It was _always_ worse when she wandered off alone.  
  
Her eyes watered when she stepped into her bedroom. The shapes of her furniture seemed blurred with the drifts of smoke inside. Her carpet crunched under her feet like dried leaves. Gasping for air, she made her way to the window and popped it open in a useless attempt to aerate the room. Of course it didn't work. The smoke got thicker, smothering her, hanging around her like a cloud.  
  
She shut herself inside the bathroom. Her nimble fingers, blackened and burnt, clawed at her throat. She dragged her nails down her neck, feeling the bump of every blister as she went.  
  
Lydia shut her eyes and started to scream, but the sound cut off when claws dug into her chest. She was pinned against the door, squirming when she felt the front of her shirt tearing and blood seeping through. She cracked one eye open and found Peter staring back.  
  
Lydia shoved at him. He relented easily, letting her drop back to the floor. The braid in her hair had come loose, and each straying strand stuck to her sweat slicked face. Her hands turned to fists at her side. He tutted at her, his smile sickeningly sweet. "Is this how you treat all of your guests?"  
  
"What do you want, Peter?"  
  
"You wanted to pay me a visit today. Thought I'd save you the trip."  
  
"How considerate," she deadpanned.  
  
"You can't stay mad at me forever," he said, stepping closer. He set his hand at the side of her face, caressing the ridges of her scorched skin. "We've been through so _much_ together. No one gets you like I do."  
  
"Said you and all my ex-boyfriends," Lydia scoffed. She turned her head toward the mirror, but his hand caught her chin, forcing her to look at him.  
  
"We're meant for greater things, you and I," Peter said.  
  
"You can try to manipulate me into being one of your pawns, but you've already lost. You've got nothing left to fight for. At the end of the day, you're as weak as the rest of us," she bit out. She grabbed his wrist and forced his hand away from her face.   
  
Peter angled himself toward the mirror, threading his fingers through his hair. He straightened the line of his jacket. "You know I don't deserve to be stuck in a place like Eichen House," he said, frowning at his reflection.  
  
"You're right," she replied, which seemed to take him off guard. He looked at her and raised an eyebrow. She narrowed her eyes. "You deserve to burn again and again in the darkest ring of Hell."  
  
"Oh, Lydia," he sighed, that tell-tale smirk smoothing over his features. His body skewed and stretched, fangs extending and eyes bleeding blue. His voice roared in her ears alongside the rush of her heart. "I'd find a way to come back. I always do."  
  
He lashed out, but his claws couldn't quite reach her before he disintegrated, fragmenting to a pile of ash at her feet. Lydia stood at the mirror and placed her shaking hands over her neck, her face. There was nothing.  
  
The smell of gasoline had left her clothes. Her skin was smooth, her shirt was still one piece. She was back to normal--at least, as normal as she'd ever be. She let out a long exhale, rubbing at her eyes tiredly.  
  
Lydia did not have time for this.

*

"There's Lydia now," Peter said, propped at the bottom step of the metal staircase. He held a leather-bound book but did not read it. He made an effort of bookmarking the page he'd flipped open to, then snapped it shut. "No doubt she's going to be offering me an invitation to that party of hers. What do you think, am I dressed too casual? Should I have gone with one of my fancier v-necks to show my gratitude?"  
  
"You've got nine shirts," Derek replied. "Total."  
  
"Excuse me for exploring my options," Peter muttered.  
  
Derek stood from the couch, masking his annoyance. He opened the door and finding Lydia on the other side was no surprise. The lot outside reeked of her boiling anger and her expensive hairspray from the minute she'd drove up.  
  
Lydia pushed past Derek. Her heels clicked as she stormed to the stairway. The red wash of her curls was a vibrant contrast to the backdrop of the Hale building. She looked as though she'd been painted into the scenery as an afterthought. She grabbed at Peter's collar, wrenching him from his nonchalant pose. The book clattered to the floor.  
  
"You're a monster," she snarled through bared teeth.  
  
"Isn't that a given?"  
  
She shoved him back. His back snapped against the stairs, but he seemed more upset that she'd bent his collar out of shape. "Stiles and Malia were fine," she said. "You only made things worse by talking to her. She doesn't understand what you _do_ to people."  
  
"You're telling me you weren't waiting with bated breath for their relationship to fall apart?" he asked, using the bannister to pull himself upright. "You should be thanking me."  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about," she snapped.  
  
Derek appeared at Lydia's side, the book in his hands. Lydia whirled around to face him. She smacked the book and Derek watched as it skittered across the floorboards.  
  
"Not everyone needs supernatural fangs and glowing eyes to be capable of ripping someone's head off, Derek, and I am a _very_ capable person," Lydia said. "What the hell is the matter with you? Why did you let him out of Eichen House?"  
  
Derek opened his mouth to explain, but no words came. His reasonings were all doomed to fall flat before her. He'd grown up with Peter, hadn't spent a Christmas without him until the Hale fire. Peter was his family, his pack. Lydia couldn't possibly understand what that felt like.  
  
"I wasn't expecting a heartfelt excuse, but I expected a little more than dead silence," she quipped.  
  
Derek swallowed roughly, cleared his throat. He watched the twitch in her brow and the bead of sweat sliding down her temple. "Deaton set a charm over the building. Peter can't leave unless I'm accompanying him," he said. "It's just for a few days."  
  
"Well, no surprise here, but he managed to work around that. He talked to Malia, and if he ruins my party because I can't salvage pack dynamics in time, that falls on you. You're the one who let the psychotic bitch out of his mental institution."  
  
Behind her, Peter scoffed. Lydia turned around. The smirk on Peter's face dropped immediately. She pointed at him, face going pink with anger.   
  
"You are not invited," she said, articulating daggers with each word. "Derek will not bring you. If he does, you will be tied up in the backyard with a rope's worth of aconitum. Do you understand?"  
  
Peter nodded tersely.  
  
Lydia smiled, pleased with his quiet obedience. She took a moment to compose herself. She straightened out her skirt. She pulled her braid back over one shoulder, running her fingers down the perfectly weaved fray. "Merry Christmas," she sighed.  
  
Peter listened to her stilted heels as they echoed through the stairwell the whole way down, and he didn't breathe until she was gone.

*

"Ms. McCall, do I smell Clubman Pinaud?" Lydia asked, pulling away from Melissa's hug with the intent of watching her reaction. Stating observations was a tricky game that followed one of two outcomes. If Lydia pointed out the truth, denial was sure to follow.  
  
Melissa went bright red, hiding her face in her hands as she laughed. "Are you implying I've been with a man?" she asked, flustered.  
  
Lydia turned to Isaac and Scott, curled up on the couch together. They were both staring at her, wearing identical expressions of surprise.  
  
"And I thought you two were werewolves," Lydia said, strolling over and joining them. Lydia folded her arms over her stomach, reclining into the empty spot on the couch. The cushions dipped under her weight and she kicked out her heels, propping them up on Isaac's knees.  
  
"Mom?" Scott piped up, voice small.  
  
"Yes, dear?"  
  
"Have you been seeing someone?"  
  
Melissa snorted. "Come on, Scott," she said. "You're a werewolf. Don't you think you would have noticed if a man's aftershave was all over me?" Melissa stepped into the kitchen, laughing as she went.  
  
What Lydia didn't say was how she recognized the particular brand; it carried a refined smell, described as old fashioned by its customers, and it was the kind that Sheriff Stilinski wore. She didn't make a habit of paying attention to the Sheriff's grooming routines. She did, however, know that Stiles and his dad shared, and if she was fond of the scent... Well, that was something she and Melissa could ignore that they had in common.  
  
Scott pouted and collapsed against Isaac, who merely scratched Scott's scalp in response. The action degraded to the wolves shoving at each other and snickering. Lydia pursed her lips and applied pressure along the inside of Isaac's thigh with her heel. He stilled, focusing on Lydia instead of the boy beside him.  
  
"As much as I'd love to stick around, I've got a tight schedule for today. We need to talk."  
  
Scott clapped Isaac's shoulder. "I'll take that as my cue to leave," Scott said, untangling himself from Isaac. He trailed into the kitchen.  
  
"Is this about yesterday?" Isaac asked.  
  
"I'm doing damage control."  
  
Isaac winced, looking all too guilty for someone who had made a good argument. She moved her legs off of his knees and squished close to him. She ran her fingers through his curls, pacifying him quickly.  
  
"I'm not mad at you, Isaac. I'm here to make sure you and Stiles aren't going to be fighting at my party tomorrow," she clarified. "Are you going to be okay?"  
  
He nodded, giving her a small smile. "Yeah, Scott explained Malia's situation, helped me understand both sides of the story," he said. "Stiles apologized this morning. I've gotta say, it was pretty satisfying to have him say I was right."  
  
He went quiet and twisted around, watching the empty arch into the kitchen. She watched him fondly, feeling herself relax for the first time that day. His face went pink when he noticed her staring.  
  
"What?" he asked, curling in on himself, trying to hide.  
  
"It's good to have you back, Isaac," she told him. "We missed you a lot."  
  
Scott dived back onto the couch, his head nearly colliding with Lydia's heels in what she was sure would end in fatality. He jerked away at the last second, courtesy of heightened reflexes. He stretched out over the couch, over Isaac. "I missed you the most, dude," Scott said, grinning.  
  
Isaac mumbled and the blush took over his features.   
  
Lydia smirked. "And I'll take that as _my_ cue," she said, patting Isaac's leg. She stood and made a beeline to Melissa, who was churning a cheese slathered ladle in a pot of macaroni. Lydia swiped one of the noodles from the pot and popped it into her mouth.  
  
"Leaving so soon?" Melissa asked.  
  
"I'm afraid so," Lydia replied, "but thank you for having me."  
  
"You've been here for all of five minutes and you've behaved better than Scott and Isaac have all week. I believe I should thank you, specifically with an invitation to eating lunch with us?" she offered, looking pointedly at the pot on the stove.  
  
"This party won't plan itself," Lydia said, and with that, she headed for the door.

*

Lydia teetered close to the porch steps, winded and off balance from Malia's bone-cracking hug. Malia caught Lydia's wrist to keep her steady. She laced her fingers with Lydia's own and nuzzled her neck. Lydia pushed Malia's face away from the crook of her shoulder, because she wasn't sure if she was ready to live in a world where Malia knew she was ticklish.  
  
Without Malia attached to Lydia, she could assess the situation properly. She'd showered, which was a good sign. Her polish remained mangled, and she was in one of Stiles' flannel shirts. She hadn't buttoned it properly. Strips of her skin were peeking through, as well as the lace of her bra. Her cut offs weren't winter appropriate, but Lydia didn't think that Malia cared either way.   
  
Clipped to the pocket of the shirt was the poinsettia flower--hers, originally. She reached out and flicked one of the petals. "I like this," she said.  
  
"Kira gave it to me," Malia boasted. She bracketed her hands around the flower and smiled at it. "She said it's going to help me. It's supposed to keep me from getting so angry, because when I look at it, it'll remind me of who I am. I don't know who I am yet, but you probably figured that out already."  
  
"None of us know who we are. We're teenagers, remember?"  
  
Malia looked up from the flower. She chewed at her lip, fiddling with the hem of the flannel. "I'm a coyote," she said quietly.  
  
"I know, but you're a teenager first," Lydia said, squeezing Malia's hand. Her legs were starting to go numb from standing outside, but she wasn't ready to go into the house yet. Malia was pleased with standing in the chilled air. Malia fell into the line of Lydia's body, hiding her face in Lydia's collar. "I should have asked you what kind of teenager you wanted to be. I'm going to do my best to make this up to you, Malia. I'm assuming you and Stiles--"  
  
The door squeaked open. Stiles stood in the doorway, holding a mug of some marshmallow topped drink. Lydia assumed it was hot chocolate.  
  
"You're not mad about me talking to Peter?"  
  
Malia clutched Lydia's waist tighter, growing rigid and refusing to move away from Lydia's body. Lydia and Stiles were left to exchange a look over Malia's shoulders. There was a long stretch of silence where Stiles and Lydia mouthed at each other rather than speaking. It went along the lines of:  
  
'She talked to Peter?'  
  
'She didn't _tell_ you?'  
  
'No, she didn't tell me!' This required a flourish of Stiles' hands. Both of them. He splashed some of the cocoa down his wrist. He wheezed and lapped the liquid off the top of his hand.  
  
'Don't be mad at her--'  
  
Malia nipped Lydia's shoulder through the folds of her sweater. Lydia yelped and shoved her away. Malia fiddled with the flower absently, staring at it rather than Stiles and Lydia.  
  
"Malia, what the hell?"  
  
"Stop talking in front of me," she huffed.  
  
"Actually," Stiles said, causing Malia to face him. "Talking would require us to emit noises from our throats, which I'm doing right now. What _we_ were doing was lip reading." He made a circular motion around his mouth with the hand that was holding the mug. "Reading of the lips."  
  
Lydia rolled her eyes.  
  
"I wanted to tell you about Peter, but we just stopped fighting and I know you don't trust him. I didn't want us to fight again," Malia breathed. "It's not like it matters anyway, right? He's going back to Eichen House after Christmas."  
  
Stiles blew over the hot chocolate, watching the bobbing marshmallows. He slowly lifted his eyes to meet Lydia's. He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.  
  
"She's right, Stiles."  
  
Stiles sipped cocoa noisily off the top of the mug.  
  
"I hate Peter," Lydia said. "I less than tolerate the fact his existence correlates with my own. He's going to be back out of our lives in two days or less, which means he's got an expiration date on how much conflict he can start between our pack. Malia was in a bad position because of us, Stiles, and that's why she went to him. We should be reconciling with her, not focusing on him. Pick your battles."  
  
Malia skipped back to Lydia's side. She snuggled up next to the shorter girl and kissed the top of her head, content to lean her weight on Lydia. "You're forgiven," she said, lining the fabric of Lydia's sweater with a jagged nail.  
  
"Hey, what about me?"  
  
Malia looked over to Stiles. "What about you?"  
  
"Am I forgiven?"  
  
Simultaneously, the girls replied, "Hmm...no."

*

Winter meant the woods surrounding the cabin were eerily quiet. The living room to the lake house was dark, tucked away in shadows with only the rolling wash of the waves at the lake to accompany the silent night. Lights were tucked snugly around the tree, casting oblong shadows on the walls. A mere half of the plastic branches were adorned with red and green baubles.  
  
Kira had draped a long strand of tinsel over her shoulders. She wore it like a boa, ignoring the way it itched her skin. She was untangling a string of glassy beads, tongue poking from the corner of her mouth as she concentrated. A line of plastic bags occupied the space on the couch next to her. Kira strayed from the task quite literally on her hands, attempting to peek into one of the bags.   
  
Lydia smacked Kira on the wrist, preventing her from seeing what was inside. "I am appalled you would even try such a thing," Lydia said, gaping.  
  
Kira smiled sheepishly and withdrew, returning to the hassle of beads across her lap. Her eyes were glowing hazardous orange in the light of the lanterns. "What did you expect? I'm a trickster spirit," she mumbled. "Is your Secret Santa gift in there or something?"  
  
Lydia stalked over to the tree, a box of ornaments in tow. Kira's hands froze over the beads. "Oh my gosh," Kira gasped. "It is, isn't it? That's why I can't look!"  
  
"No need to short circuit, little girl. Yes, I bought my present last minute, but it's not like I didn't know what I was going to get," Lydia said. "I just haven't had the time. I had to pick it up on my way here, along with a two-for-five from Taco Bell."  
  
"You're so busy. How do you do it?" Kira asked, in awe.  
  
Lydia shrugged, hooking an ornament closer to the top of the tree. The tallest point was out of her reach, but she was more concerned with coordinating the middle section at the moment. "I've got a reputation to uphold, Kira," she replied. "Resolving drama isn't a problem. The real challenge is planning the party."  
  
Kira got up from the couch, and the string of beads trailed after her. They fell in a line and not in knots. Kira handed the line over to Lydia. She wrapped the beads around the tree with precision, threading them around the Christmas lights and spattering the room in flecks of gold.   
  
They stared up at the top of the tree, which remained bare of all decorations.  
  
"We should have brought Isaac," Kira said.  
  
Lydia nodded in quiet agreement. There was a ladder stashed somewhere in the house, but thinking of her late lunch had her stomach grumbling. She wasn't dedicating the rest of her evening to trimming a tree without getting a snack first.   
  
She left the living room and Kira followed, curiosity piqued. Lydia rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. She rejoiced when she found a king sized Reese's that she had stored in the pantry for safe keeping. Lydia held the package out to Kira, and the fox plucked one of the Reese's cups from the container.   
  
"To a day's work?" Lydia offered. They peeled the wrappers and tapped the ridges of the Reese's together, an odd variation of toasting to themselves and to each other.  
  
"Never a dull moment," Kira agreed.  
  
The chocolate melted over their fingers as they ate. Lydia hurried to eat the third candy from the plastic, but Kira declined to eat the fourth. "Your loss," Lydia drawled, and bit into the mesh of peanut butter and chocolate.  
  
The kitchen was cast in a silver light from the moon. Filtered through the gunmetal gray of the clouds, the room was left dull. Kira held her face and drifted through some daydream, brow pinched in thought.  
  
"Something wrong?" Lydia prompted.  
  
"I'm nervous. I don't want to mess anything up, you know? It's my first Christmas with the pack," she said, trailing off.  
  
Last year had been different. No one left their families. Lydia's mother didn't even know the truth behind Allison's death, and she had been holding Lydia with white knuckled worry, fearing that Lydia could be next. Christmas morning was plagued with thoughts of how pale Allison had looked, propped in her casket.  
  
"Maybe that's why I'm trying so hard to get everything _right,_ " Lydia muttered. She tapped a primly painted nail on the counter. The sweet taste of chocolate at her tongue had gone bitter with bile. Lydia tried for a smile, but it felt fragile and forced. "How about we finish the tree?"  
  
"If you're up for it, sure."  
  
Lydia held out her hand. Kira was eager to take it, intertwining their fingers. They walked back into the living room and Lydia refused to turn around. She didn't want to acknowledge that yes, it was Kira she was dragging along behind her. For an evening, she wanted to pretend she was leading her huntress, her best friend, through the halls of the lake house instead.


	5. everyone. [dec 24]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !warning! some of the characters will be smoking cigarettes in the last scene of the chapter. thanks for sticking around for the last chapter installment, have a happy christmas everyone!

Liam rang the doorbell. Mason jittered beside him, palms slimed with sweat. He was holding a tiny box close to his chest. Liam hadn't bothered with wrapping his present. The bag slung over his shoulder had a fox printed across the front, and inside sat the comic book he'd bought for Kira. He was confident in what he'd bought. Mason, on the other hand, was having doubts.  
  
"I should have gone with the baseball bat."  
  
"You're being weird."  
  
"I'm--"  
  
They were interrupted by Lydia clearing her throat. They turned and found her in the doorway, watching them with interest. Liam's jaw slacked at the sight of Lydia. She was in a short red dress that accentuated her curves. Her earrings were silver sprigs of mistletoe, which matched the chain at her neck. Her nails were decorated with pine trees, endearingly festive and frighteningly accurate.  
  
Mason elbowed him. Liam blinked stupidly.  
  
"You're early," Lydia commented. "Put your presents under the tree and meet me in the kitchen."  
  
She turned and strutted back into the house. Mason and Liam were eager to follow. They set their gifts near a pristine box, poised beneath the fray of branches. Liam was overwhelmed with the smell of cider and something stronger, something like--  
  
"Cupcakes?" Mason asked.  
  
"Red velvet. You're going to help me frost them."  
  
She set the can of frosting closer to the boys and handed them each a spoon. There was a platter set out with all the baked goods she'd already finished. There was a pile of cream cheese frosting on each one, perfectly sloped. Liam reached out and grabbed one. Lydia couldn't stop him fast enough. He stuck the whole cupcake into his mouth, chewing as she chastised.   
  
"I will keep your gift and send you back home, Dunbar," she threatened.  
  
Liam stuck his tongue out, revealing the mashed cupcake. Mason snorted with laughter, but she was furious. Lydia pushed Liam out of the kitchen and he went willingly, letting her sit him down on the couch.  
  
"If anyone's at the door, answer it. Try that again and I'll make sure you never eat another cupcake for the rest of your life."  
  
"Yes, ma'am," he chirped.  
  
She narrowed her eyes.  
  
When she came back to the kitchen, Mason was butchering one of the cupcakes with his spoon. He'd managed to get frosting on his nose and in his hair. The frosting sat lopsided on the cupcake, which Lydia could have worked with if the cupcake weren't close to cut in half. She pointed her spoon in the direction of the living room.  
  
"Give that one to Liam," she ordered.  
  
Mason cupped the broken cake in his hands. He trudged back to his friend, holding the dessert out to him.  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"It's a cupcake," Mason said. "Defective, but all yours."  
  
Liam poked at it. "I don't know if I wanna eat that."  
  
"I don't think you have a choice."  
  
Liam sighed and accepted the cupcake, biting into it and pulling a face. It tasted like the rest, but he liked the reaction it got from Mason. He started shaking Liam by the shoulder. Liam went limp and shoved the rest of the cupcake into his mouth, spraying crumbs over his friend's hands as he made disgusted noises.  
  
"This is awful," Liam teased. "The worst cupcake I've ever eaten."  
  
"You take that back!"  
  
Lydia appeared behind Mason and dragged him back into the kitchen. Mason and Liam fumbled to clasp hands, trying to keep from being separated.  
  
"I'll never let go, Jack," Liam crowed. Just like the Titanic, he let go shortly after.  
  
Mason pouted. Lydia handed him the spoon she'd rinsed. The counter had been wiped clean, as if Mason's first attempt had never happened. He picked one of the cooling cupcakes off the plate and dropped a glob of frosting onto the top.  
  
"When you said party, I was thinking more along the lines of college fun and a little less family reunion."  
  
"We are a family," Lydia deadpanned.  
  
"Are we a drinking family?"  
  
Lydia squinted at him. She set her beautiful cupcake onto the platter. Mason put his deformed one next to it.  
  
"It's not like it'll make much of a difference," Liam said, suddenly hovering near the dessert platter. He swiped another off the plate and bit into it. "Alcohol doesn't work on half of us. Unless Lydia decides to poison everyone like--"  
  
"I cannot believe Scott told you that story," Lydia groaned. She flapped her hands at Liam. "Get out of my kitchen."  
  
The doorbell rang. Liam and Mason looked at each other, then bolted for it.

*

The car ride to the lake house was accompanied with Isaac's compilation of electro swing remixes, which Kira enjoyed thoroughly and Scott couldn't see the appeal of. They parked an odd distance from the house and stacked all three presents in Isaac's arms. Kira and Scott were connected at the hip until Liam answered the door. While Isaac marveled at the glittering decorations, Scott threw himself into a full body hug around Liam.  
  
"It's been so long," Scott said, sniffling and wiping at his eyes. "The prodigal son returns."  
  
Liam buried his face into Scott's shoulder. "The dragon has been slain at last, but the princess..."  
  
"You didn't rescue the princess?" Scott was mortified, as if an actual person's life was at risk of being burned to a crisp by a winged reptile.  
  
"No, she lives," Liam said.  
  
Scott breathed a sigh of relief. He even went so far as to wipe his brow. He asked, "What happened, then?"  
  
"When I arrived at the castle, she kicked me out of the dining hall for feasting."  
  
Scott craned his head to find Lydia, glaring at them both. Liam ducked behind him, hiding despite being an inch taller. Mason snickered, his hand fixed and fiddling with the stud in his ear.  
  
Lydia waggled her frosting crusted spoon at Scott. "Do not let him in here. I don't care if you think he's your son," she snapped.  
  
Scott turned to console Liam, but Kira was quick to intercept. She grabbed Scott's hand, smiling and face flushed. Her nose was still pink from being outside in the frost. "Scott, I think I left something in the car. Can you come with me?"  
  
"Yeah, sure," he agreed.   
  
Kira pulled him to the door. Scott threw an apologetic look to Liam over his shoulder, and as his eyes swept the room, he found Isaac hiding at the corner. He was impossibly small, tucked away in his oversized sweater. Scott felt a twist in his gut, leaving him alone with two kids he barely knew.   
  
The door clicked behind him and the thought dispersed.  
  
The moon was ghostly overhead. Kira was glowing with excitement. Her boots scuffed along the dirt path. With her free hand, she tugged her knit cap down to her eyebrows. "What did you forget?" Scott started to ask, but the glint in her eyes made it apparent she hadn't forgotten anything at all.  
  
She held him against the car door and kissed him softly. The contact shocked him, actually shocked him. He flinched, running his tongue over his lips. They were buzzing even after she'd pulled away. She went scarlet and apologized along the crooked line of his jaw, kissing all the way down to his collar. He held her closer, leg wedging between her thighs. He slipped a hand under the layers of her clothes. She made a noise when his cold fingers met the stretch of her skin.  
  
"Kiss me," he murmured.  
  
"What if I shock you again?" Her breath was warm at his neck.  
  
"It's okay. You didn't hurt me."  
  
Her tongue flicked over her dry lips, and he felt the wet stripe that followed. He dragged a lazy pattern at her waist with his blunt fingernails, the infinity symbol. She snuffled against his neck, then withdrew. He watched her face, and oh god, she was gorgeous. Scott couldn't help but smile sideways at her.  
  
She leaned in to kiss him, deeper than before, and the result was drastic.  
  
There was a noise, the kind you would normally hear in a sci-fi movie when something went horribly wrong. Scott could see the house in his peripheral, and the lights flickered. Kira pulled away from him entirely, her hands coming to cover her mouth.  
  
"Oh, god. Oops."  
  
Scott doubled over with laughter. Kira progressed from pink to crimson, dizzy with the rush of blood to her face. Scott composed himself and tried to reassure her, because at least the lights had come back _on_ , right?  
  
"Kira, it's okay," he said. He reached out to touch her, then thought better of it. His hand fell lamely back to his side. "We can make out at my house later. I have candles, and we can turn the lights off and ignore any potential power surges."  
  
"I wanted to make out with you here," she mumbled.  
  
Scott barked a laugh. "Believe me, so did I."  
  
She scrubbed at her face, embarrassed. When Scott didn't say anything, she started tugging at the hem of her shirt, straightening out her skewed clothing. He watched her, contemplating the best approach.  
  
"I have an idea," he said.  
  
Her hands stilled over her coat. She crooked an eyebrow at him.  
  
"We have to pretend we're an old married couple."  
  
"No one wants to see their grandparents getting it on in the backyard," she said. She laughed, perking up happily. Her smile split her features. "Can I be the grandpa? I feel like I monitor my front lawn more than necessary. Also, you bake cookies better than I can."  
  
"Your reasoning is sound, Mr. Yukimura," he grinned.  
  
"Thank you, Mrs. Yukimura," she returned.   
  
She stuck out her pinky. He didn't hesitate to curl his finger around hers. His hand tingled, low and under the skin, her foxfire coursing through him. Word of the day calendar would describe it as 'invigorating,' and Scott would say 'pretty freaking cool.' Kira blew him a kiss. He pretended to stick it in his pocket before she dragged him back to the front steps.  
  
They disappeared inside just as a third car rounded the trail.

*

The straps of her bra were too tight at her shoulders. She stuck her fingers under the left strap and felt an angry indent in the skin. She grimaced and reached around behind her, unhooking it and pulling the bra through the sleeve of her hoodie. She threw it into the backseat and slumped over, reaching for her toes. Her back popped. She made an obscenely loud noise at the feeling.  
  
"Malia, you should wear your bra."  
  
"Why?"  
  
She rubbed at her legs nervously, scruffing up the blonde hairs there. She didn't want the next words out of his mouth to be some statement about why wearing it was necessary. Bras were painful, horribly overpriced, and she couldn't seem to squeeze into the right size. Stiles gnawed at the edge of his finger. Malia sat up and blinked owlishly at him.  
  
"This is a party with all of our friends," she pointed out. "I don't think they are going to mind. I don't think that you're going to mind, either."  
  
Stiles scratched at the spot between his eyebrows, looking away from her, but she could still see. She could see in the reflection of the window that his face was going splotchy red the way she liked.   
  
She undid her seatbelt and scooted closer to the edge of her seat. She reached across the console and pawed at his sleeve. He turned around, fingers dropping out of his mouth. He flicked his tongue out over his chapped lips. She wanted to kiss him, but held back. She had to prove her point first.  
  
Malia wrapped her fingers around his wrist and guided his hand to the front of her hoodie. She set his warm palm over her chest, letting him feel her through her clothes. He made a choked noise.  
  
"See?" she asked, smirking.  
  
He nodded. She leaned in to kiss him and tried to keep her knee from bumping the gearshift. They couldn't get close enough to each other, not with Stiles still strapped into his seat. Their kiss became sloppy and familiar within seconds. Malia wished they weren't a walk away from a room filled with people. She broke the kiss and slid back into the passenger's side. Stiles' hand dropped, coming to rest at her knee instead.  
  
"You don't know what it's like to wear a bra all day," Malia said quietly. "It's uncomfortable, I don't like it."  
  
"You can leave your boots in my car if you want," Stiles offered.  
  
She stared down at them. They were ugly, fluffy things, sitting dejectedly on the floorboard. She loved them, and despite what Lydia said, Malia thought they went perfectly with every outfit in her mismatched closet. She didn't like the way they weighed her down, or how restricting they felt across the top, but shoes were mandatory and those were her go-to shoes.  
  
She didn't have to wear them, though. It was her choice to make. She wiggled her toes experimentally and imagined what it would be like, walking up the dirt road to the house. She smiled and nodded.  
  
Malia kicked open the car door and stepped out. The gravel under the soles of her feet crunched. She stretched her arms over her head, stomach peeking out. She bristled when the wind bit at her skin. She bounded toward the house, grass scratching her ankles and rocks jabbing her heels. With the moon overhead, filling her with a feral energy, she couldn't bring herself to care. Her cuts would heal over anyway.  
  
Stiles was lingering at the car, probably getting the presents from the back. She barreled through the front door, breath labored from sprinting. Her pack had frozen in place, staring at her unceremonious entrance. Their faces ranged from confusion to apathy, with Isaac being the exception. He looked _proud_.  
  
Naturally, she went to him.  
  
Malia sat down on the carpet, because Isaac didn't seem like he was going to be gravitating toward the couch any time soon. It was in the middle of the room, and Malia understood what it felt like when places felt too open and far too constricting all at once. She burrowed in at the corner and patted the spot next to her.  
  
He sank to the floor, holding his legs close to his chest. She set her head on his shoulder and looked up the length of the tree. Lydia had created a picturesque winter wonderland. Traditional to the T, or whatever the saying was. It reminded Malia of what Christmas used to be like when the Tate family had been whole.  
  
She reached out for Isaac's hand. There was a moment where her stomach dropped, afraid that he wouldn't accept her invitation. She couldn't always express herself through proper sentences, but physical affection never failed her. She squeezed his fingers and felt her heart swell when he pressed back.   
  
It was strange how she'd come to recognize him as a pack member over the short week he'd spent in Beacon Hills, and she wasn't looking forward to losing him. After all, he was the only person who entertained the way she did things.  
  
"You left," she said. Her words caught him off guard. He went rigid under her and didn't relax until she continued with, "You've seen things, you've _traveled_. You got out of Beacon Hills. I want to try that someday."  
  
He didn't comment, but the way his heart stuttered was enough.  
  
Stiles breezed through the living room, his paper bag and Malia's jewelry box in his hands. Malia jumped up to greet him, dropping Isaac's hand. He remained, curled comfortably in the corner, as she latched onto Stiles.  
  
Malia got in a solid three seconds of kissing him before she heard Kira calling her over. She made sure to pinch Stiles' side before slinking away. He squirmed and yelped, which unfortunately left him at the mercy of Liam and Mason, who were intrigued at discovering his weakness. Kira was stopped at the arch to the kitchen, holding a red cake.  
  
"What is that?"  
  
"When we were at the aquarium, you said you had never tried red velvet cake, and I was really upset because it's my favourite kind, but they didn't have any at the restaurant? So, um, I told Lydia, and she baked a whole bunch so you could eat them," Kira rambled.   
  
Kira handed the cupcake to Malia. She eyed it, intrigued. She licked the side of it, then the top with all the frosting. One bite and the cupcake was half eaten, and it didn't taste bad, not really. The frosting wasn't her favourite, though it tasted significantly better with the cake than it did by itself. She finished it off and wiped her mouth off on her sleeve.  
  
"What do you think?" Kira asked.  
  
"It's really--"   
  
Lydia cleared her throat. She pointed to the top of the doorway. A bundle of holly was tacked onto the doorway's casing, hanging ominously over them. "It's not mistletoe, for obvious reasons, but Christmas rules still apply," Lydia said, smiling.  
  
"Oh, I don't know if this is a good idea," Kira warbled.  
  
"Kira, the holly was _your_ idea."  
  
"I really don't think you're going to like it if I kiss Malia."  
  
Malia would be lying if she said she knew what was going on. Lydia was hanging dismembered plants, and now Malia was going to kiss her friend. There were far worse candidates she could be kissing, and Kira was stunning and soft. Kira's scent was a lot stronger today, for some reason. It was like she was shrouded in an electric storm. Malia felt drawn to her like a magnet.  
  
Just like that, she made up her mind. She was all for this vague plant tradition, and she was all for kissing her best friend.  
  
"I would like it if you kissed Malia," Malia interjected.  
  
Lydia looked pointedly at Kira, and she wasn't the only one. Their conversation had turned a few heads since its start.  
  
"I don't mind," Kira said, "but you might."  
  
"Why would I mind?" Lydia asked.  
  
Kira exhaled and shook her head, like Lydia just didn't get it. Malia didn't either, and she felt like she'd missed an entire segment in their conversation, but then Kira was closing the distance between them. She set her hands on Malia's waist with purpose. It sent sparks up Malia's spine. Kira leaned close to Malia's ear and whispered, "Just like Mexico, right?"  
  
Malia smiled, nodding vigorously. She tilted her head to get a comfortable angle, then pressed her lips to Kira's.  
  
The lights in the house sputtered out.  
  
Scott started laughing. Someone's heart skipped a beat, another was racing. Malia could see three sets of glowing eyes in the dark of the living room. In the ink black, Malia tensed, gripping Kira's shoulders tighter than she intended. Kira gasped, then giggled.  
  
"I _tried_ to warn you," Kira said.  
  
To their left, Lydia sighed, exasperated.

*

Braeden's hand was poised to knock when the door swung open. Lydia took one look at the three of them and grit her teeth in annoyance. Behind her, the house was swamped with darkness. To a human, it was a hindrance, and to a werewolf, it was an advantage. Derek clawed at his uncle's shoulder, keeping him in place.  
  
"Why did you bring him? We had an agreement," Lydia huffed.  
  
"We couldn't leave him alone, not with Deaton's charm running thin."  
  
Braeden picked up where Derek trailed off. "He's been counteracting the aftermath of a spell, and with his magic split, he can't contain Peter. A coven of witches met nearby and overloaded the Nemeton."  
  
"That's exciting," Peter intoned.  
  
If looks could kill, Lydia was a professional. Peter hissed when Derek's claws dug deeper into his flesh. Dark globs of blood were starting to show through the thin fabric of his shirt.   
  
Braeden wasn't fazed by the interruption, but her hand fell to the wolfsbane laced rope that she'd attached to her hip. "I heard my employer discussing it, too," she went on. "Something about recharging the telluric currents?"  
  
"I already know," Lydia sighed, jabbing her thumb toward the dark house behind her. "The back up generator should come on soon. Avoid touching Kira until the cast of American Horror Story is out of city limits, and we won't have to worry about it."  
  
"We still have to worry about this," Derek said, jutting his chin at Peter.  
  
Lydia led them around the side of the house. The ivy spilled out over the walkway, strands of the plant curling around the patio. The dark barrier of the forest surrounded the enclave. The roof was propped with a row of columns, and there was a wooden stairway from the muddied ground to the back porch.  
  
Derek dumped Peter onto the steps. His skin was stinging with how close the wolfsbane was. The damp earth did little to cover the repulsing scent of aconite. Braeden unwound a stretch of the rope and pulled it tight with a snap.  
  
"I don't see why you have to tie me up," Peter grunted.  
  
"You can't keep playing the victim," Braeden replied, pinning his wrists together and coiling the rope around them. Where the flowers came into contact with his skin, it flared an irritated red. Her hands worked the rope into a slipknot with ease.  
  
"You've got lovely scars," Peter said. He leaned forward with interest, and she could feel him straining against his confines, like he wanted to reach up and touch the lines at her neck. "I bet Deucalion was surprised when you came back from that. When he cut your throat open, did you think you'd live to see the day you could call him your boss?"  
  
Her nostrils flared. She grabbed him by the scruff and slammed him back into the side of the pillar. She finished tying him to the column, causing him to writhe and scream in a way that had Lydia satisfied. Braeden knew that letting wolfsbane ride over the shallow veins at his wrists would be more than enough to keep him in pain for the rest of the evening.  
  
"He can't break out of that, right?" Lydia asked, standing close.  
  
Braeden straightened up and stuck her hands into the pockets of her jeans. "It'll hold him," she said confidently. "I don't think there's a creature in Beacon Hills that would let him out voluntarily."  
  
Lydia looked at Derek.  
  
"I stand corrected," Braeden said.  
  
Derek frowned.  
  
The generator hummed to life, breaking the conversation. The lights were dimmer than earlier, but it was nothing a few ambient candles couldn't fix. Lydia stepped over Peter's legs and propped the screen door open. She splayed her hands with her usual flourish.  
  
"Shall we?"

*

In the moments Lydia wasn't guarding the kitchen, Malia had sniffed out the plate of mini hot dogs and eaten over half. Kira and Liam made a significant dent in the cupcakes, and Isaac was tolerating Scott's attempts to climb onto his back. She found Stiles and Mason searching the cabinets desperately for a bottle opener, the former holding an expensive wine and the latter with a key ring flashlight.  
  
The lights came back on and they froze. Lydia weaved through them, cleaning up as she went. She directed Scott toward the living room. As she suspected, everyone followed after him. Malia got away with the hot dog platter, but Lydia retrieved the unopened bottle from Stiles. Stiles whined, disappointed. Mason clicked off his LED light and hung his head, accepting defeat.   
  
"We'll drink later," Lydia promised, and sent them out with slumping shoulders.  
  
She paused to pick candles and a matchbox from the drawer. She set the candles along the shelves, ignoring the nervous glances Derek was giving her. Braeden rubbed his arm comfortingly, though it didn't relax him when Lydia struck the match.  
  
Scott and Kira were organizing the gift exchange when she returned. She was more relieved than surprised, because she was getting tired of taking charge. Scott was their alpha, and he knew what it took to get his pack to settle down. Lydia may have grown up with the phrase _leadership qualities_ tacked to her forehead, but that meant nothing when it came to a rowdy group of teens on Christmas Eve. Without parental supervision.  
  
Yet as Scott arranged the presents in a line, the room was suspended in a comfortable quiet. Malia, Stiles, and Isaac had taken to the corner again, the hot dog platter on Malia's knees. Liam and Mason were splayed over the short couch. If Lydia could just enjoy her time with her friends and not think about Peter in the back yard...  
  
"Want me to start?" Kira asked.  
  
"Be my guest," Lydia said softly, settling in beside Braeden.  
  
Kira squealed happily and picked her present from the pile. She passed it to Isaac and watched with huge eyes as he ripped into the wrapping. The Star Wars scarf sat inside, along with a small jar of reshi mushrooms. His lips quirked into a smile.   
  
"I'm going to refrain from hugging you. Wanna guess why?" he teased, and tied the scarf at his neck.  
  
They went around the circle. Isaac gave his gift to Scott--a tiny snow globe with the Eiffel Tower inside, and a spirit stone painted to look like a house--and blushed at any praising remark Scott gave him in return.  
  
Scott, then. Stapled to the front of the bag was a Get Out of Jail Free card. No one was surprised that it was for Stiles. Inside sat a plethora of bootleg fireworks and the extended edition of the latest Batman film.  
  
Derek was _not_ pleased with his gift. The disappointment began when Stiles gave him a greasy paper bag, and only escalated as he dumped the contents onto the couch. A pair of weed socks, eight packages of sour skittles, and a set of red eye contacts later, Derek was threatening to break Stiles' neck.  
  
Derek threw the triskele talisman onto Liam's lap.  
  
"You can't complain about my gift and then give him _that,_ " Stiles scoffed.  
  
"I hear what you're saying, but to me, that sounds like you don't want to keep your head attached to your body."  
  
Liam shuffled over to Kira, who doted over the bag for a long moment without realizing there was anything inside. She pulled the Deadpool comic out and gasped, eyes sparkling. "I love Deadpool," she gushed. She smoothed the plastic casing over the book and frowned. "Well, except for that time we were all in one."  
  
Lydia hurried to salvage the situation. She grabbed her gift and gave it to Malia, steering her attention from the sausage platter long enough to take it from her.  
  
Inside the box was a kit of henna. Malia especially liked the heady earthen smell of henna, but was confused by the second item. It was a lantern, the paper edges blank. Lydia plugged it in the outlet and turned the knob. Through the paper, it cast shapes of tree limbs and leaves across the walls. Her fingers shook as she traced the webs of branches.  
  
Malia couldn't thank her. The words died at her tongue. Malia gave her a watery smile, the sweeps of her ombre hair falling into her face, veiling her. Lydia brushed the hair from Malia's eyes and Malia nuzzled her palm. Lydia helped her deconstruct the lantern and place it back into the box. Malia held onto it like it was something worth protecting.  
  
For Braeden, Malia had gotten a silver necklace with a handgun charm, with the explanation that Lydia wouldn't let her gift wrap a real one. Braeden, in turn, gave a slip of paper to Mason.  
  
"What is this?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.  
  
"A phone number," she replied. "I heard there was a wolf in Satomi's pack you've taken an interest to."  
  
Mason laughed nervously, and Liam's expression turned murderous.  
  
Finally, Mason did the honours of sticking the clips into Lydia's hair. They were white as pearls and carved to look like lilies, embellished with gold. She stood stock still as he put them in line with her braids, and she balanced the platter of sausages in her hand. Scott swept in and grabbed it, then motioned for Isaac to follow him into the kitchen.  
  
The overlapping conversations in the other room became distant. Scott set the tray onto the counter. It clattered noisily. Isaac winced.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
"It's fine," Isaac said, but it wasn't. Isaac didn't feel fine, he felt out of place. It was painful to watch how close everyone was, knowing that he had distanced himself on purpose. He could have stayed for them, but now that he'd left, it was worse realizing he couldn't come back the same.  
  
"The stuff you gave me tonight, man, I know what it means. The snow globe, the spirit stone... It's more than that to you," he said. "You want Beacon Hills to be your home, but it's not anymore, is it?"  
  
He shifted uneasily and muttered, "I want it to be."  
  
"It's not natural for wolves to live on their own," Scott continued. "You're welcome to stay with us, but I know you're not going to. I won't be upset if you want to find a pack in France, Isaac."  
  
Isaac's mouth went cotton dry uncomfortable. He couldn't process what Scott was saying. The words were blurring, his vision was blurring. Scott tethered him, kept him from disconnecting, when he reached out and took Isaac's hand. It was funny that Scott wasn't the first person to do that tonight. It was hilarious that Isaac was in the pack, and he wasn't. He belonged, but only at the outskirts.  
  
He started laughing and couldn't stop. Scott's thumb stroked the top of his hand. It should have been soothing but wasn't helping any, not with the way it made Isaac's heart race. He hated that he was fumbling with a crush, and Scott was telling him to move on.  
  
"Isaac, look at me," Scott said, which was confusing because Isaac didn't realize that he'd ever looked away. Isaac blinked slowly. He couldn't focus on Scott's eyes, and he didn't want to focus on his mouth. He stared at some middle point, the edge of Scott's nose. "I'm worried about you. You're going to get hurt if you're alone, and it's worse if you stay here."  
  
"I get it," Isaac wheezed. "I don't want to, but I get it."  
  
Scott drew Isaac in close, hugging him. Isaac felt sick. He clung to Scott anyway, because it was the last time he'd be able to for a while. It wasn't indulging or romantic; it was Isaac shredding the bond with yet another alpha.  
  
 _Like ripping off a band aid,_ he thought, and let go.

*

The microwave glowed butter yellow. The house filled with the smell of rubbery sausages. Malia was roped in a conversation with Kira and Stiles and they weren't making sense. She'd missed half of their dialogue because she was busy listening to the hum of the microwave. She stole a lingering glance to the kitchen, then stared down at her empty cup. She squeezed it experimentally. The plastic bent out of shape and distorted her name, written in marker on the outer edge.  
  
Stiles bumped Malia's shoulder with his. She smiled and handed him the cup. He scooted off the couch just as Kira resumed with, "As I was saying..."  
  
He padded toward the kitchen, skirting around where Braeden and Liam were sparring. He didn't know how a living room was an acceptable ass kicking space. He narrowly avoided an elbow to the stomach from Liam.  
  
He skid on the tile in his socks, crash landing into Lydia. She remained stable in her heels, somehow, and retaliated by bumping his hip with hers. He flailed to remain upright, grabbing at her frantically. She yanked him close, smirking.  
  
"What are you doing?"  
  
"Falling over," he said weakly.  
  
She smoothed her hand over the wrinkles in the front of his shirt. He didn't have to ask for her to take the cup and fill it to the brim with cider. She set it on the counter. "Need anything else?"  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"That depends," she replied, cocking her head to the side. "What are your opinions on sharing?"  
  
"I've heard it's great. Never tried it, personally."  
  
"Tell me if you think this is a good place to start," Lydia said, and held up the last of the cupcakes. The frosting leaned pitifully to the side. She broke it in half and offered the larger to him. He swiped the frosting off the top, waggling his eyebrows as he did so. Lydia choked on her bite, swatting at him as she sputtered.  
  
"Lydia, you can't hit me while I'm fellating my cupcake."  
  
"You and your cupcake should get a room," she scoffed.  
  
He winked. "Not without the baker."  
  
Lydia's eyes fell to Stiles' shirt. Coincidentally, he was wearing the same flannel that Malia had been swamped in yesterday morning. Earlier, she was busied with arranging the party and corralling Liam and Mason. She hadn't noticed that her poinsettia was pinned at Stiles' pocket, almost as if she'd given it to him herself.  
  
"What's this?" she asked, feigning naiveté.  
  
"Malia's, sort of. She said I could wear it, 'cause she forgave me," he said. His smile gave way to a dorky grin, the one he wore every time he talked about his girlfriend. His eyes lit up like he'd reached some brilliant epiphany, and he quickly took the flower off the front of his shirt. "Here, I want you to have it."  
  
"She won't mind?"  
  
"Nah, she loves you," Stiles replied. He folded the flower into her hair, pushing the petals so they framed the hair clips she'd got from Mason. He had completed her makeshift bouquet. His hand caressed the side of her face, and she was sure that if he stayed there any longer, he'd feel her heating up.  
  
The microwave beeped, jolting them both. Lydia hurried to get the hot dogs out, arranging them in a plastic bowl specifically for Malia. She had one foot through the arch of the door when Stiles put a hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Here, lemme do that. I've gotta take this to her anyway," he said, motioning to the cup of cider.  
  
Lydia shook with laughter. It was bright and sudden, and it would have been endearing if Stiles knew what had caused the outburst.  
  
"What? What is it?"  
  
She didn't answer. Her knuckles went white with how tightly she was holding the bowl, and her laughter wasn't easing up. Stiles raised a hand to his face, feeling for any frosting he could have smeared around his mouth.  
  
"You stopped me."  
  
"Yeah, and?"  
  
"No, Stiles. You _stopped_ me," she stressed.  
  
And that's when he looked up. Needless to say, his hand dropped from his face. He stared at the holly, bug eyed and wondering if this would break some sort of unspoken rule. Malia had kissed Kira, but that was undoubtedly different. Kira hadn't been in love with Malia for ten years.  
  
Then again, ten years had come and gone.   
  
Stiles liked Malia. He liked Malia _a lot_. If that were the truth, then kissing Lydia wouldn't mess things up, because Stiles didn't love her anymore.  
  
Stiles licked his lips and nodded, more to himself than anything. He took her hand and kissed the top of it, then used it as leverage to tug her closer. She went as red as her hair, her breath coming shakily. He bent to kiss her.  
  
It was sweet, near chaste if he hadn't lined her lip with his tongue. He loosely held her hand as they kissed, could feel her wavering as she pressed against him. She smelled nice, in a store bought way that contrasted Malia's forest overtones. Her lips were softer, too, and glazed over with gloss. She pulled away, dazed. It wasn't often her words failed her.  
  
"I've got to, um."  
  
Lydia staggered a step backward. She pushed the bowl at him and he fumbled to catch it. She stopped to grab her jacket from the back of the couch before she disappeared through the screen door. It squeaked on its hinges, and Malia was in his orbit within seconds.  
  
"What did you do?" Malia asked, quick to take the hot dogs from him and tuck the bowl under one arm.  
  
"I don't know," Stiles sighed.  
  
"She'll be back," Malia said, bobbing her head. She looked up at the holly and smiled, fangs peeking from the curl of her lip. She stuck her finger under Stiles' chin, turning his head. "In the meantime, I don't think she'd want us breaking plant rules."

*

Peter's claw followed the grain of the wood stair, chipping it mindlessly as he sat. The ropes cut deep each time he moved. Isaac stood in some vague direction behind him, elbows on the porch railing and his eyes cast to the night sky. The dark clouds swirled with promise of rain. That was a rarity for California, but not uncommon after a witch gathering. The lines of the trees bled into the constellations.  
  
Isaac was doing his best to enjoy the tranquility of the scene. Peter didn't have to be in a room to own it. He could claim the attention of any space, even the back porch. Isaac could have reveled in the peace and quiet if it weren't for Peter's presence.  
  
" _I don't want a lot for Christmas,_ " Peter sang, tipping his head back. He collided with the column, though that was a less bothersome pain than the wolfsbane at his wrists. " _There is just one thing I need._ "  
  
Isaac tapped his fingernail on the railing in annoyance.  
  
" _I don't care about the presents,_ " Peter trudged on. He had a beautiful singing voice, and of course no one wanted to hear him sing. Derek never gave him compliments on it, but Peter knew that he was destined for greatness in all accounts. Not only was he gorgeous, he could carry a tune like no one else.  
  
Isaac sighed gently, because Peter was horribly off key.  
  
Lydia came storming onto the porch, the door smacking closed. She patted at her pockets and withdrew a thin, bulbous contraption. She brought it to her lips and billowed smoke a second later.  
  
"Peter, don't say a damn word."  
  
"Wasn't planning on it," Peter droned, sounding bored. He continued to destroy the lines of the stair. He looked a bit like he'd eaten a lemon whole, probably upset he hadn't finished his homage to Mariah Carey.  
  
"I didn't know you smoked," Isaac remarked.  
  
Lydia spun to face him, surprised. Harboring the e-cigarette in her hands, she inched past Peter to stand beside the blond. "I don't," she said quickly. "Well, not usually. It's my mom's vape. I just..."  
  
She paused to take a drag from the vape. The cloud that followed was scented, like citrus or something similar.  
  
"It lets the edge off," she finished lamely.  
  
"Why are you out here and not in there?"  
  
"I should be asking you the same thing, Lahey."  
  
Isaac leaned his weight on the rail. He ran his hand over the line of the plank, daring it to give him a splinter. He kept his gaze to the unkempt underbrush. He couldn't look her in the eyes and tell her--      
  
"I'm out of the pack."  
  
Another plume of smoke. Lydia mirrored his pose at the railing. She stared at the cigarette between her fingers with disdain. "I'm sorry."  
  
"It's not something official," Isaac said. "More of a feeling, really."  
  
She offered the cigarette to him, smiling half-heartedly. Isaac accepted, wetting his lips before pulling from the mouthpiece. His lungs felt warm, alarmingly turning the rest of him cold. He tasted fruit from the vapor. He exhaled slowly, smoke ascending to join the wisps of rainclouds above. He passed it back.  
  
"Your turn."  
  
She paused, twirling the object around her fingers as she thought. It was around a puff of smog she replied, "'To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.'"  
  
"Federico García Lorca on unrequited love," Peter supplied. Isaac could see Peter's silhouetted shape peeking from the pillar, shaking his head sadly. "Lydia Martin, the girl who learned everything; even if she learned some things a little too late. Quite the tragedy, isn't it, Isaac? One you know well, I'm sure."  
  
"Okay, you're done," Lydia said flatly.  
  
The weight of Peter's words sat heavily around them. The trees rippled with a cutting wind, the leaves shaking like Lydia's hands. They continued to pass the vape back and forth. Isaac put his arm around Lydia's shoulders and felt her trembling. His finger lined the seam of the poinsettia in her hair.  
  
"I'll miss you," he murmured.  
  
Lydia nodded and sucked in a breath. Isaac could smell the salt sting of her tears threatening to spill over.  
  
" _All I want for Christmas is you,_ " Peter broke in.  
  
"Peter, you're ruining the mood."  
  
"Impossible. It's Christmas Eve, it's a Christmas song. You're the one trampling my holiday cheer." His eye roll was not seen, but heavily implied.  
  
"Bite me," Lydia grumbled.  
  
"Lydia, I already did."  
  
Isaac laughed, loud and abrupt. Lydia wiped at her eyes, the mascara smearing. Her mouth was trembling as she fought off a smile, but Isaac could tell it was a losing battle. She sniffled and let out a chuckle, her voice going scratchy.   
  
"Come on, Isaac," she said, reaching for him. "We have a party waiting."  
  


 

the end.


End file.
